Soft silence coats the hall as somber death
Impinge those aged souls whose time has come.
Lamented their dejected final breath,
Embracing quietude to which we must succumb.
Now noisily proclaimed with muted cries,
This silence fades away as seas of brass,
Sharp sylvan woodwinds for attention vie,
Young melodies join strains firm unsurpass'd.
Mercurial winds blow their honeyed tunes
Past valves breath-wanting, amplifying bells,
Honed underneath that hush'd director's boon,
Opining shimmering notes' sweet farewells.
Neat strains give patrons new epiphany:
Yearn fierce that sonorous-toned symphony.