My Clarinet

Air goes in at the top and runs to the bell
Sound vibrates grating through the bamboo
Reaching for holes to escape through
As the player moves their fingers
A beautiful sound emerges
The song evolves and increases in pitch
The plastics odour reaching for the sky
And metal inlays dance for life
Collapsed and put in a case of cloth
Bumped around in a grumbling machine
A life of work but no bed to lie in
When he is played the work is loved but when not no emotion for it
And after it has lived its life it will be thrown away and younger version will come to play