(Not responsible for bizarre content.)
the beautiful classical strains of Vivaldi and Bach
by my loving parents.
My father played the flute, my mother the harpsichord....
I was an innocent.I made cruel sport of them....
Music played on banjos, mandolins, fiddles even.
I found myself drawn to it. I wrestled with my conscience.
I wrestled snapping turtlesI would play lovely rennaissance music and perhaps
some English dances and Celtic aires.
I played alone in my kitchen.
For all my efforts, that rude mountain music continued to haunt me.
My fugues lay strewn like scattered leaves upon the kitchen floor
while I discovered I could strum to Carter Family songs
and sing along with Roscoe Holcomb recordings.
I sang to my mother over the long distance telephone,
and she was aghast.
I surrendered myself to OldTime music.
