I hear the orchestra playing, the melodious songs I hear,
Those of violinists, each one bowing hers as it should be thoughtful and willing,

The harpist plucking hers as she reads the notes and chords,
The pianist tapping hers as she keeps her foot on, or off, the pedals.

The trumpeter playing what belongs to her in her song, the trombonist playing next to her,
The flutist whistling as she sits in her seat, the conductor directing as he stands,

The composer’s song, the soloist on her way in the overture, or at intermissions or at curtain call,
The delicious strumming of the cellists, or of the bassists at work, or of the violists stopping or going,

ach playing what belongs to her and to none else,
The stage what belongs to the stage--backstage the party of talented professionals, ardent, and fulfilled.