Viola

A large violin? I think not, fool
Nor am I a tiny cello
And the ones who pluck me, play my strings
Are decidedly more mellow

Inferior? I scoff at this
Because my numbers are few?
Because of lame jokes infinite?
Well, I'll teach you a thing or two

The firsts have egos that fill a sea
The seconds aren't much better
They always rush, embellish and prance
Can't follow their music to the letter

The cellos drone deep and much too loud
"Play soft?" they ask, "Too hard!"
The bassi we like and love because
We're both held sans regard

So now that the idiots (save the doubles, of course)
Have been given their fair due
I'll tell you what's really up with me
Take the bull out from what's true

It's true that I'm the middle child
Oft unnoticed in the room
But I'm a vital link, a bridge
Twixt ego and the boom

I share the cellos strings
But an octave higher still
And though I lack a violin's crest
The lower tones I fill

I don't screech like the violin
Nor growl in the cello's way
My tone is rich – of subtle beauty
A pleasing sound all day

"There are no noted viola bits,"
You quickly say with glee
But Barber, Grieg, Dvořák too
Have written melodies for me

The other thing I deign to say
Is that our players are humble
The stool crew is cool, but the others are tools
And their big heads often cause them to tumble

So that's my case for significance
Off you go; mind the case by the doors
But should you still think less of me
I politely say "UP YOURS"