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Maynard Madness: A Poem

By Jamison Sevits.

That Maynard guy, he's really cool,
If you don't like him, you're the fool.
He plays and plays and plays some more,
Some people ask "What the heck for?"
I'll tell you why he's played forever
This is his love, his key endeavor.
He puts that trumpet to his mouth,
And blows those notes both north and south.
All the fans of his come 'round,
To hear the beauty of his sound.
The stratospheric notes they soar,
And make us beg him for some more.
He's 68 and getting older,
But his music keeps getting bolder.
Wilder are his playing styles,
He ain't no Dizzy, he ain't no Miles.
And man his sidekicks sure can play
That jazz, you need it everyday.
The solos and the improv wail,
And sure enough, they never fail.
The bass guitar and all that beat,
It adds some rhythm, and some heat.
The trombones and the saxes fly,
And leave the rest all high and dry.
So listen to this Maynard fellow,
Unless your scared, your back is yellow,
He's great, he's cool, there is no doubt,
He's what trumpeting's all about.

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