Music's Rapture

Chill wind blows
They feel the cold
But it doesn't matter
They focus on what they're told

Though all else are
Shivering
They stay silent
No complaining

They concentrate
All as one
It sweeps them up
Leaving none

Their music loud
It fills the air
Though people clap
They focus elsewhere

Then the music's gone
Down come their hands
They walk off
They're the marching band





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