A Critique Of My Papa's Poem

It wasn't an incredibly advanced piece, not unattainably difficult, but to me, the unfamiliar rhythms and new patterns required more thought and effort than most of the usual classical songs. The defining feature of this song, the motific triplet-against-eight note pattern, would simply not stay in my brain. Late nights lying in bed, in between classes, tapping on my desk, that rhythm always slipped through my fingers just as I thought I had it. I even asked a few drummers from marching band to help me, who would spend their lunch time with their practice pads and drumsticks on top of ritzy school pianos, drilling me while I practiced that elusive rhythm. My metronome became my best friend and my worst enemy, and secondary source of frustration as it pointed .
The whole song seemed to fall together and clarify, as if a camera were focusing on an image that adamantly insists on blurring, but then finds the perfect focus. I could appreciate the individual nuances of each individual chord, hear the blended colors and form of the phrases, and feel the resulting dance and impression of the song as a whole. I could feel the motific triplet waterfall-like melody, flowing independently of the rippling left hand. I could visualize the dance of colors and rhythms Debussy must have felt when he first composed it. The entire piece seemed to [elaborate