Anticipation would always thrill us would-be listeners
When Uncle Arthur took from its case or from the shelf

That simple, varnished, wooden, four-stringed sound box and bridge --
I certainly loved it myself,

Aunt Pearl would accompany on anyone's upright
Piano -- no baby grands were ever played,

My most favorite fiddle piece was called, "Ragtime Annie" --
The folks in Kingfisher, Oklahoma knew that a carpenter was his trade,

I still have the picture from fifty-seven --
The last of Edgar and Art together,

No one could have known how soon Dad's whistling would end
Or when Arthur's fiddle would be silenced forever,

The seven children of Al and Dora are now all in Heaven --
Each one had the gift of music -- fiddled, whistled or softly sung,

They all shared two virtues -- quick wit and charm,
Although not born to the world of luxury -- riches' bottommost rung,

Now we children of that family band are getting on --
Two or three more generations exist,

Maybe our forefathers came from Ireland -- could be,
Exaggeration is permitted even though the Blarney Stone was never kissed.

by D. Edgar Murray 05/06/2000.