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This growing sensation,
I’d feel better if I could sit.
The shear anticipation,
I can hardly stand it.
I’ve spent months preparing for this day,
But the waiting is driving me up the wall,
I want to run the other way,
Screaming down the hall.
The group in front of us
Are trying to make their 7th minute
Perfect, moving, fabulous,
They’re eager to win it.
And the other group fills out,
After the timer gives the judge the cue,
Then I heard her shout,
“Okay, we’re ready for you.”
I walked in behind them,
My Soprano and Bass,
I try to remember that the judge can’t condemn,
I try to remember to keep a steady pace.
I’ve spent hours upon hours working out every detail,
Reviewing, redoing, relearning, refrain after refrain,
Trying to be a group the judge would hail,
Not one they would disdain.
I roll up my sleeve,
As we enter the room and each take position,
Try to remember to breath,
And remember the diction,
We take the first breath together,
Then split into our parts,
The songs seem to last forever,
While I desperately hope for good marks.
All to quickly we our allowed time ended,
The judge looked up and said “thank you”
But she neither praised or commended,
As for how well we’d done, I hadn’t a clue.
We filed out the same way we came in,
We were done and relief flooded our faces,
Then we looked over at the wall where the scores would be pinned,
And as we waited, we all matched each other’s paces.