Our older son has just begun
To learn to play the flute;
We think his tones are marvelous,
And sit in rapture mute.
Why have the neighbors such pained looks
As they are passing by?
Why does our collie whine and yowl,
Then move away and sigh?
The neighbors must be envious,
And wish their sons could toot;
Our collie tries to sing, no doubt,
When Virgil plays the flute.
Florence B. Taylor
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