From an American newspaper of 1914…
My concertina sobs and shakes,
for it’s in poor repair,
And neighbors say the noise it makes
would cause the saints to swear.
My neighbors come, in protest bent,
when on it I perform;
“Why don’t you buy an instrument
that’s up to date?” they storm.
"Pianos now are in the reach
of e’en the poorest man,
And you might go and buy a peach
on the installment plan.
“Pipe organs too, on easy terms,
are sold most everywhere;
Why play a thing that squeaks and squirms,
and murders every air?”
“Because,” I answer, "‘tis mine own,
all paid for, long ago;
And though it has a beastly tone,
that fills the town with woe,
"I’d rather hear its music sad,
that keeps me in a sweat,
Than own the fairest, sweetest Strad,
for which I’d gone in debt.
"I’d rather it should make me sore
with discords, every day,
Than have collectors at the door
demanding instant pay.
"The humble whistle, built of tin,
by local plumber made,
Beats organ, flute or violin
for which you haven’t paid.
“My concertina seems a crime
to folks like you, and yet,
I find that music most sublime
which doesn’t hint of debt.”
–Walt Mason
