Well-Oiled Machine

February 20, 2009
By Anonymous

Whomp, whomp, bam.
The bass drum rumbles behind me
Our band director raises his arms
We snap to attention
Reeds find lips
Bows search for strings
And fingers stumble over sheets of paper

Sounds crowd the room
From each corner comes a different sound
A different tune
A different emotion
Trumpets blurt out a thrilling fanfare
Flutes trill a delicate high note
And saxophones toot a jazzy harmony
Noises collide
And the outcome:
A sweet melody
A tune to dance to
A song

We are a group of students
A well-oiled machine
We are a school band.

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