Walking through a grand old church,
in the length-stretched isles,
we stride up to the risers,
it seemed to rise for miles.

Singing for the Honor Choir,
during the fourth grade,
rehearsing for our performance
which will soon be made.

Strides in the conductor,
with her stubby baton,
beginning to thrash the thing around
turning our voices on.

Throughout the song
we had a blast
then held a note,
it was our last.

As we finished the song
were signaled to bow,
I was on the riser at the top
leaning forward behind a cow.

This cow was a girl
that was so huge
her rear-end bumped me
and I was confused.

“What just happened?” I thought,
as I prepared for the hit
while I pondered and worried,
this will hurt quite a bit.

I landed on bars
that were behind the stage
then I was suddenly picked up
and brought to a sage.

The sage was a doctor
who looked at my arm
she said I was fine
as she worked her charm.

There now is a blemish
because of a bar,
on my joint
there is a scar.

Now a days
I can spin a whole story
about my scar
but without any glory.

For it is not honorable,
there’s nothing to admire
I fell of a riser
during Honor Choir.