The Perfect Oboe Reed

‘Twas the day of the concert; the oboist was sad.
He’d shredded the tip of the best reed he had.
He threw down the reed, and hung down his head.
With a catch in his voice, he ruefully said,
“If only I had a perfect reed!
One that would satisfy all of my needs.
A reed with response and control and dark tone,
One that would last for my lifetime,” he moaned.

Just then, right before him, the devil appeared,
With horns on his head and a black pointed beard.
He said, “For a price, you can have what you need.”
From under his cape he brought one perfect reed.

Made with gold staple and rainbow-hued thread,
“This reed,” stated Satan, “will never go dead.”
The oboist started to drool with greed,
“Name your price, Satan, I must have that reed!”

The devil snapped, “Fine, I lay claim to your soul,
Since this perfect reed is your only goal.”
“You’re in,” said the oboist. “I’ll gladly play.
My soul doesn’t help me make reeds anyway.”

The reed was debuted in the concert that night,
And the oboist knew everything was just right.
Every note succeeded, each solo was enhanced.
The audience was awed, even the conductor was entranced.

“This oboist,” they vowed, “is the best we have heard!”
So after the concert they spread the good word.
The oboist’s fame and fortune increased,
Enticements for concerts and recordings never ceased.

But then one black night, preparing for Dr. Fried,
As he opened his reed case and grasped for the reed,
The cork seemed too slick and it slipped from his hand.
The reed fell and split on the base of the stand.

The oboist turned purple, exploding with rage,
He burst a blood vessel and died on the stage.
He went straight to Hell, where his debt would be paid,
And Von Weber concertos are the only thing played.

The moral of this story is simple to see,
One cannot rely on a single reed.
There are good ones and bad ones and many between
Some that work easily, others seem mean.

But unearthly reeds will not last on this land;
To keep a good job, you must wield a deft hand.
So have lots of cork grease in stock,
Or your neck might replace your reed on the block.