so rattle those traps but softly
with your brushes, Mr Roach,
and let the sizzle cymbal
sing, but quietly
like a distant blackbirds whistle.
Because Babys sleeping
and dreaming of the lake
breathe gently, Monsieur Bechet,
breathe gently on the reed
the way you do, the way you know.
No need to let rip, let the clarinet ripple tonight.
My Babys sleep is peaceful,
brush your bow against the strings
and rock the cradle,
Señor Mingus, if you please,
and be willing as youre able
to rock the cradle by your bass.
Babys fast asleep,
just touch the keys,
just pet the frets
and keep your hat on, Mr Christian,
and thank you, Duke,
for being so Ellington.
And thank you all for your
Now my Babys sighing soft and steady
rhythm to the solo of her dreams.
The Improvised Vision, a gallery
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