“My Old Trombone”     

                                                 

It smelled awful! So did she!

This pair would soon make melody.

Forlorn child, stranger to fun,

She stood, spitless, beneath this nun.

 

Nothing ever worked out right.

The birth of hope might be this night.

In her heart the turmoil reigns.

Music could release the chains.

 

They’ve held her until now,

with fears she will somehow

               never be

               happy and free…

 

But she (the nun) saw life through eyes that would

stir pity, “I’ll help her, I should.”

Sister Nan knew of her home

            and offered Joy an old trombone.

 

New tunes were played inside Joy’s house

That nun saw promise – not a louse.

The sounds of never-ending fights

            are hard to hear as Joy delights,

 

                            In finding there’s a way

                             to overcome dismay.

                                                Practice now

                                                so that somehow

                               there’ll be a glorious day.

 

Out of her shell and smelling sweet;

parades, concerts and lots of neat

events were now replacing strife.

            The old trombone gave her new life.

 

God sent that nun to start the child

on a new path that wasn’t wild.

Joy could have said, “It stinks! Not me!”

            And had a different history.

 

                                    But now you hear her voice

                                    Say, “God gave me a choice.

                                                Music made                              

                                                my own parade,

                                    And now I can rejoice.”