The deep notes of the organ sound,
The choirboys look slyly round
to see what mischief they can find.
They look like angels but I find.
They’re really demons in disguise
a choirmaster must be wise.
They seem to have endless supplies
of mischief hid behind their eyes.
But I forgive them when they sing.
The treble voices echoing
high in the roofspace where they bring
pleasure to all those listening.
I love and hate them equally.
But now and then I can still see.
They’re not so different from me,
When I recall I used to be
a naughty little choirboy.
Full of tricks meant to annoy.
The mischief all small boys enjoy.
This knowledge which I now employ.
To keep my choirboys in line
Ensuring that they sound divine.
They do respond to discipline
just as I did when I was nine.
Each one posses a fine voice
sufficient reason to rejoice
I don’t regret I made the choice
to teach cathedral choirboys.
06/07/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem