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A Flute Fluke

This is a tale about a man

Who valued something dear

Too bad for him

The tale is grim

When he brought those items here

You see the fellow

Played the flute

But not one ordinary

They were handmade

The price he paid

Expensive! Very, very!

Around the world 
This fellow flew
The crowds they flocked to hear him
And songs he plays
On flutes called “nays”
Yes, thousands would endear him

 
These flutes, they were so special
For those who really knew
Each one, it was handcrafted
From special grown bamboo
 
And that’s where lay the problem
The flutist, he flew here
Despite his cries and tootin’
Our customs did not care
 
“You cannot bring those flutes in here”
Cried folks at immigration
“We don’t allow our visitors
To bring in vegetation!”
 

And so the men in uniforms
Took those flutes away
And Boujemaa Razgui
No longer could he play

 

And then, my friend
It got quite worse
They were not confiscated
No! They were dumped
In garbage bins
Perhaps incinerated!
 
And DHS, they did their job!
I’m sure their horns they toot
But sadly the musician
Has not a single flute!
 
Perhaps it is a parable
A message we can heed
You never know the magic
Of what looks like a reed
 
For us who may not
Blow a horn
It also is a “zach
For us the reeds
That they’d throw out
Would be our holy s’chach!
 

You never know the value
If you don’t play the game
And now, my friend
I’ll never see
A bamboo reed the same!