My Old Trumpet

What a wonderful world

Image by Olena from Pixabay

I set my trumpet on my lap, its metal, old, and worn. The valves had seen much better days; it was a well-used horn.

Some confuse it with the cornet. They’re similar in looks, but different in both shape and tone, at least in experts’ books.

I raised the mouthpiece to my lips and blew as I had learned. The sound I made assailed the ears but it was a pleasant tune.

I could play it in my sleep, I practice every day. One day, I will be good enough to blow it on the stage.

The trumpet gives me confidence I’ve never had before. If I don’t have it with me, I feel like such a bore.

I play The Last Post on request, a tribute to those we lost. Who fought so we could all be free, but paid a tragic cost.

Music saved my sanity. Without it, I’ve no worth. I’d protect my trumpet with my life, It’s why I’m on this Earth.

Satchmo was my hero. He had a unique style, and when he sang Wonderful World, I hid sadness with a smile.

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© John Hansen: All rights reserved. Australian writer

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