This Poem Is In G

This One’s in G

I wanted to write something down,

            A wonderful melody or song.

An air that you could all join in with

            Or, if you feel like it, play along.

However, I have to admit that there is a problem,

            One that is quite easy to see:

You can’t join in with this ditty,

            Unless I tell you the key.

So to give you the knowledge you’ll need,

            I’ll tell you what it’s going to be.

It may not be obvious to you at once,

            But this poem is clearly in “G”.

Great is the struggle I’ve had for some time:

            I don’t play guitar or the banjo.

I can’t play anything you’d know:

            No instrument or drum – sadly, no.

Chords are of the greatest mystery to me,

            To say nothing of strings or of frets.

Not being able to make what passes for music

            Is one of my greatest regrets.

I’ve tried hard to learn in the past,

            But I’m afraid I didn’t gain any wings.

I could see my teacher’s face wincing,

            As I gradually mangled the strings.

Recorders and drums and a violin

            Have all been subject to my hand,

But as I couldn’t hold any tune together

            There was no chance of joining a band.

The guitar is an instrument for good tunes

            Until I got hold of one, one day.

The resulting noise, despite the practise,

            Kept my friends far away.

Even the drum, you’d think would be easy to do,

            But not for a musical fool like me.

I couldn’t keep time, not to save my life,

            So I was a failure – that’s so easy to see.

So sit there and think yourselves lucky!

            And try and take some pity on me.

I know that it’s spoken, not sung

            Just trust me – this one’s in “G”.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2016