He stroked her celesta allegro
Till her little cloche sparkled and gleamed
Her breaths came out presto staccato
Her skin liquefied so it seemed.
She pumped with her tromba marina
Till her saxophone quivered and quacked
Her movements, though sweetly obscena
Made up for whatever he lacked
His reeds soon grew limber and soggy
His embouchure lost all its buzz
Which made her grow quite agitato
And wonder just who this guy was
So she brought herself to a finale
With crashes of cymbal and drum
In a flourish of fortissismo fingers
She proudly announced “I have come!”
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