Mr. Nutting: Band Teacher

The sounds of trumpets wake me up,
First thing in the morning.
Mr. Nutting waves his baton, not unlike a magic wand.
Everything falls silent, my clarinet ceases to play.
Scales start off to begin the day.
Teachers all inspire us, but Mr. Nutting is unique,
He taught me the magic of music, soft and strong.
Notes to play right and long.
The speeches he gives, honestly, sometimes put me to sleep.
But the words shine through, the meaning is deep.
My best memory of all was back to Summer Band Camp.
The weather was hot,
The marching was new.
Mr. Nutting helped me realize everything I thought I couldn’t do.
The third day in the camp,
The seniors made everything a mess, it was a tradition.
Mr. Nutting didn’t get mad instead all he did was laugh ,
Despite the water balloons everywhere.
He even let us have a water fight right then and there.
The marching, the music, the laughter,
It all caught me in a rush.
As I heard and learned more,
I just couldn’t get enough.
The last day there, was so sad but fun.
We got in a circle; it was a tradition for everyone.
The profound words he spoke as deeper feelings invoked,
By the end he was crying with tears in his eyes,
Others joined him in the melancholy cry.
A teacher, he is, he plays the role perfectly.
With a wave of his hand, a nod of his head, off we go,
The trombones bellow, the flutes start slow,
The drums start drumming, the xylophone rolls.
Sometimes Mr. Nutting stops us, quick and quite.
Pointing out our mistakes, better music he helps create.
The meaning of life melts into his music,
Inspiring me to never give up and try.
He taught me music, the lessons of life.
He is a magic teacher, to be precise.