Walking hither and thither
Whilst coaxing tunes from my zither
I received a look that would make a wallflower wither.
Not from a sister
And not from a brother
But, from another relatively related person (though not a father or mother).
I seem to have a dozen of them;
Each and every one a cousin;
And this one such fellow was not at all au fait
With my musical ability; my need to play;
For ‘practice makes perfect’.
I’ve a long way to go;
But, still I shall play it
Until I am still
And six feet down
Or scattered wide;
And, if I haven’t succeeded
At least I can say I tried.