Ode to the Saxophone
Matthew, Age 12, Norwalk, CA

It waits to be played, in a
dark freezing case waiting to
be played. It waits for my
warm fingers to touch it once
again; it waits to touch the
cloth on my sweatshirt
which it loves so much.
Waiting to see his friends, the
trumpet and trombones, loud
and shiny, the clarinets and
flutes, small and skinny.
And finally he canít wait to see her,
the saxophone he is in love with.
He loves the sound
as if itís God singing.
He just loves it when they play
together. She is an instrument
from heaven, the most
beautiful saxophone he has
ever laid eyes on. But when
the bell rings and he goes
flying across the room, hating
to be parted from her, he is
taken apart, put in his case
always thinking of her. He
just sits there laying down
thinking, thinking of her
sound as if angels were
singing and then he falls in a
deep sleep wondering if she is
thinking of him.

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