The Artist Must be Free - or: The Practise of Practice

Two years into the piano
and not much further on
I take up violin -- and
what a difference!It sings!
My instrument, no doubt!
A maestro in the making,
I am sure of it -- that is
until my teacher, saintly,
white haired, gentle, kind
and ancient Janet Lawson,
terminates the lessons on
hearing that I practice it 
in bed. does she not know
art can't be bound by rules?

She's still will teach me
the piano, though... happy
in the thought, no doubt
that given its great size
and weight, there's little
chance that I'll be tempted
back to my Bohemian ways...
.............................

A little belatedly submitted to Poetry Jam's prompt Breaking all the Rules