Chalumeau, pg. 2

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I could hear their words waft on the breeze,
it seemed they were talking of Wood.
"Grenadilla!" both yelled,
"What a Heavenly smell!"
Then, in tandem, they pulled up more trees.

As I hid from the falling debris,
I missed their unison exit.
I turned all around,
trying to follow their sound,
and finally heard Chalumeau sneeze.

It came from The Cave Troubadour,
a shop 'neath the ground, where they lived.
Flying fast as a rocket,
I grabbed C's dirty pocket,
and snuck in as they shut the doors.

While they worked, the Twins sang their best,
a surprisingly beautiful mix.
While Chalumeau flowed,
in parts and song low,
it was Clarion who did all the rest.

The clarinet's lower physique
belongs to Chalumeau's skill.
But Clarion's own
upper, sweet tones,
are the Licorice, all clarinet's speak.

I went to see Chalumeau Forest.
Two giants there make clarinets.
I've come to conclude,
in that brief interlude,
these Twins make clarinets best.


Mildred

Chalumeau (Shall-you-MOH)

 I went to see Chalumeau Forest,

A giant there makes clarinets.

As I entered the park, I got lost in the dark,

And doubted my mission’s success.

I continued with renewed intent,

Until I ran into a wall.

I felt all about, 
It was wood, rough, and stout,

And part of a huge instrument.

I’d found a large clarinet barrel,

But this I had not seen before.

‘Twas taller than tall, had holes up the wall,

And was home to a duck, bird, and sparrow.

Then I heard singing,
In octaves too low,

As deep a voice I’d ever heard.

My flashlight revealed, 

What night had concealed,

The forest’s own Giant, Chalumeau.

He was bigger than I could take in,

With bird nest on top of his head.

As he plucked up some trees

(and did it with ease),

I discovered the Giant was twins.


(to be continued . . . ) 


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