Story 412: The Big Note

The Big Note
by
Matt Zurbo

Flewbert was a quite small bird
that really wanted to be heard.

So blew a note, oh, my word!
So big it was quite absurd!

Flewbert left the note,
hanging on a tree,
waiting on a branch,
for the likes of

young Aimee.

Aimee was full of joy,
excited by this brand new toy,
that fell
and made her shout;
“Oh boy!”

She grabbed it
by its accent,
dragging it as she went,
as if a big note
rom a small bird,

must be Heaven sent,

Soon, she arrived with it
to school,
where kids could often be
very cruel.

But Aimee was nobody’s fool!
Fighting off the bullies
with a teacher’s stool.

The note was so big and fat,
so bursting with
MUSIC,
young Aimee had no idea
what to do with it!

Feed it into a speaker,
the one with the school bell?
To pin back ears,
open hearts,
maybe let tears swell?

To give the other kids,
a nice little big treat,
of music at its purest,
make them tap
their feet?

“The neighbourhood
needs it,”
she said to small Flewbert.

“Something big and bold,
as told by a
wee bird…”

Flewbert said “Tweet, tweet!”
“Tweet, tweet!”
as he fought off some crows,
to whom the note’s tastiness
seemed. to grow and grow..

Lewis wanted to film it,
Betty make it a star!
Harry put it on a pirate ship,
and sail it very far.

“No!” Aimee protested,
as she ran with it.
Yes, she was up for sharing,
but how was the big trick?

“Eat it, eat it!”
insisted the crows,
as Aimee ran and hid.
”Share, share!” tweeted Flewbert,
from a rubbish lid.

“Mine, mine!” shouted the bully,
by the name of Squid.

Somebody offered Aimee
quite a handy quid,
but she didn’t care for money,
like so many other kids.

She rode a bike, a skateboard,
even took a tram,
until her and Flewbert the bird
were,
at last,
alone,

down by the old dam.

There she planted the big note,
sung by a lonely, little bird,
where it might seed and grow,
into a tree that could
be heard.

“Imagine it,” she pondered.
“A tree with notes for leaves,
that sang the sweetest songs,
upon every breeze!”

What a gift, thought Flewbert,
such a way to share!
Music, music,
come autumn,
on the wind

music throughout the air.

Music for you and me,
and them,
growing without a care.

To be eaten,
and chirped like burps.

Music everywhere!

“A plan?” said young Aimee.
“A plan!” Flewbert agreed,
“Sure, a plan!” squawked the crows,
patient for a feed.

And they sat and sang songs,
and played,
and danced,
as others came and went,
full of mirth,

waiting for passion,
found in a small bird’s
note,

to give glorious birth.

The End