V for the amateur Violinist,
Whose tone (regrettably) was the thinnest
That ever was heard from a violin.
You never heard anything quite so thin.
It was thinner than twigs or the legs of plovers,
Thinner than models on magazine covers;
Thinner than greyhounds, thinner than whippets;
Thinner than hairs or the tiniest snippets
Of fur from a vole or a shrew or a bat:
Whatever you think, it was thinner than that.
At last, one day, his friends took him aside
And explained why they all seemed to run and hide
Whenever he reached for his violin.
And when, in the end, their advice had sunk in,
He finally put his fiddle to bed
And took up the theremin instead.