From ritual and dance that strove to hide
Identities from watchers’ ears and eyes,
Descended the kazoo, for years supplied
By parents in response to children’s cries.

But when that cheerful buzzing banishes
The woeful din, it substitutes a sound
At which all satisfaction vanishes;
Faust would admit the quandary profound.

But kitschy and obnoxious though it seems,
Its own diminished form it can transcend,
In concert context it is gaining steam,
Within a playful and nostalgic trend.

To thoughtful players, it presents a choice;
Of just how silly one should make one’s voice.