A BOY WHO IS BLOWING THE TRUMPET

[mahuairong]

Music and musical he knows little
playing at meals when there is less trouble.
The magpies jiggle and sparrows chuckle.
The brass on his fingers turns to kettle.

Notes perch on the branches of a maple.
First a half, a quarter and then a whole,
alike the yells of a pair of eagles,
still the intonations of meow and owl.

The men boast their pride of the Colonial.
West instrument is taken for a pearl.
Till double cats in heat stop and listen,
The Music Town wants its title and role.

Harmony comes not from voice but from noise.
Diligence braves waves but vanity reaps.

(Revised by Ma Huairong)
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You see me, you lose me