My Drummer Boy

My Drummer Boy


He played his drums when I first met him
some thirty years ago,
since he was eight, he played them--
I've missed his playing so.

My Drummer Boy could snag the beat
no matter what the song,
he's played with orchestras and bands
but now, it's been too long.

Until the other night,
the drums were quiet, packed away
but finally he heard my plea
and finally, I heard him play.

He worried he'd not be good enough
that his welder's fingers couldn't wield the sticks
but play he did, ne'er missing a beat:
He played the riffs, the rolls, the licks.

I sat and watched;
tears overflowing--
Listened to him play
and saw him glowing.

The worn and tired Drummer Boy
upstairs on the Christmas Tree
he received the year he got his drums
and it looks different now. You see

He's playing again, my Drummer Boy
and they both are glowing; each with his drum.
They echo each other in the night
as they play, pa-rum-pa pum pum.