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The Sound

The sounds
echo off the walls.
Medleys, melodies.
The winds
are earthy and woody.
But there is a brassy drawl
in the back ground.
Suddenly, a shout from the front,
"Trumpets!"
The brassy sound fades away
into a quiet grumble of
buzzing bees.
The winds snicker in the front,
eyes cast back
to gaze at them.
The tap-taps never stop,
always a quiet beating
even when silence is demanded.
Then together we go,
a medley of sound;
brassy,
strong,
earthy,
and the tap-taps
that come from the back.



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