This is an ode to my cello
who's dream is to be on stage.
But when I mess up a note
it fills it with pure rage.

He let's me express my feelings
with something other than words.
His name is Castiel,
after an Angel of the Lord.

Every day, I hear his voice,
feeling joy when I play it through.
But sometimes my pitch is so off,
it sounds like an animal in a zoo.

He hears me sneeze from rosin dust,
and scream when I don't play right.
When I tune, we tell in agony.
My G-String peg was too tight.

He yells out in fear
when my brother touches him.
I jump out of bed and yell,
"DON'T TOUCH MY CELLO!"

But despite all this,
I adore my cello.
He's my golden boy
even without the golden sound.