Lesley Gordon

  To the house of her teacher, one Isabel Beake
With a large leather music-case three times a week
Regardless of snowstorms, depressions or gales
Went Susan McAlister Bevington-Bales
Since her fat baby arms to the keyboard she'd lift
She had had what her mother described as a 'gift'
And so the improvement of Susan's technique
Was entrusted - per term - to Isabel Beake.

'What an ear!' said her Pa. 'What a touch!' cried her Aunt
'What feeling!' her friends and relations would chant
And old Uncle John said it made his heart yearn
To hear Susan playing 'The Robin's return'
But in spite of success and her growing repute
Came a fly in the ointment, a rift in the lute
For Susan McAlister Bevington-Bales
Though partial to music, would not play her scales.

Her lesson would start with the scale of A flat
The teacher would render it something like that......
And Miss Beake not unnaturally thought it amiss
When Susan responded with something like this.......
At arpeggios bungled with touch inelastic
Miss Isabel Beake would grow cold and sarcastic
At similar blunderings in the chromatic
Miss Isabel Beake would wax warm and dramatic
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