I once met a little cricket.

He came to live in my pocket,

And wherever I go

Along he comes with me.

 

I met him by chance

On a fine sunny day.

He was waiting for a lift,

Having landed from nowhere

On a huge slab of concrete.

 

He looked for a pocket,

I looked for a cricket:

There seemed to be a fit -

That’s all there was to it.

 

He spoke non-stop

And so did I -

He taught me his language:

I learned it in double-quick time.

 

His language was music,

He was born singing tunes.

We both spoke nonsense perfectly -

Cricket-speak perfection,

Swaying like sea-water

In ebb and flow.

 

And he could change his tune

At the drop of a hat !

All he had to do was speak

In a different key, alter the mode,

Modulate, undulate -

And suddenly all tears dried

Into peals of laughter,

Or your smile froze in horror

At a sudden dreadful tragedy.

 

And so the little cricket

Turned my pocket

Into a great opera house !

Packed with musicians,

Singers and conductors,

All having fun, making up

Tunes as they went along.

 

Call it improvisation,

Call it dialogue, call it counterpoint,

Or call it what you will !

It may not even have a name.

But whatever it is,

My pocket is full of it !

 

…I once met a little cricket.

He came to live in my pocket,

And wherever I went

Along he came with me.