Symphony

The baton waxes, and waves of notes come crashing With diving trumpets and salty horns amassing Flutes float on driftwood As air swells in chests And the timpani’s undertow moves the rest The baton is high and major tides and minor gusts clash Clarinets reach the surface, and fingers splash Trombones reach their depths As bassoons reach full mast And the snare’s beat holds fast The baton starts to wane and piccolo retreat Currents of melody not as replete Oboes must ebb As the lines no longer seethe And musicians finally begin to breathe