The Drum Shop
A chamber filled with cylinders of air beneath the skins,
A cavern dedicated to the art of beating things,
A desert for the trumpets, and a wilderness for strings,
But oh, this is a heaven for the drums !
Where cymbals tsk-tsk-tsk all day,
And tambourines are shake-a-shake,
And castanets come out to play,
With wood-blocks in their wake.
Congas and tom-toms and bongos in pairs,
In a four-four and three-four and quick-march in double-time,
Bass drums and kettles and tablas and snares,
To the beat of the bodhran and ting of the wind-chime.
And oh, the sticks and hammers and brushes !
So many way to make a bang !
To shake-up the silences, heat-up the hushes,
With stirrings of sturm-und-drang !
So ring-out those cow-bells, and anvils and cannons, and gongs,
And all that belong in here –
And if you have nothing, then play with your stomps and your claps,
And your finger-snaps, my dear !
From sleigh-bells to maracas, via triangles and dhols,
In a chamber filled with shimmers and alive with clangs and tolls –
It’s a cavern to percussion, and to nothing but percussion,
And yet home to ev’ry drum that swings and rolls.
Rhyming Couplets 