I had imagined a magic tower
and was thrown into a class of sneezing children.
A record fidgeted a Waltz, the tune of the unmarried.
And all the awful smiles.
The beginning was small and the end should greatly blunder
I hated the Wienies rattles and the feminine anklets
I hated the teacher’s merriment and my surroundings
I was happy.
Days of the Tel-Aviv Conservatory
2. The test
4. The first concert
10. The last recital