It’s not an ordinary toot
That’s played upon the golden flute!
One time a man asked me to play
Upon my flute his flustered way.
I said, “This is no substitute!
This is the esoteric flute!”
He looked at me and muttered, “Shoot!”
I then began to play a scene
Of lovely notes in floating green,
Then asked this doubting, blinded brute,
“Now have you heard of such a flute?”
“Such notes,” he said, “I’ve never seen;
But I detest the color green.
Play me red notes. Blue is cute.
Come honk them through your golden flute.”
Such people I have rarely seen
Who doubt philosophies of green.
And so I thought. And so was mute;
But floored him with my golden flute.
I like the music in your poem. I haven’t been able to figure out whether you floored him by continuing to ‘play’ green or whether you flute is multi-chromatic.
For me you would have to subsitute the word hit for “floored”. Even then I might have missed it. I have often heard the phrase, “Hit it boys.” as a band begins to play.
This poem remindes me of William Blake and his piper. You have done really well to inffuse the musical elements in language to the theme this poem sings to. What muse has bitten you of late? Well done.
For me you would have to subsitute the word