The violin strings quiver, oboe haunts
with mystifying sound, and all the French
horns call us to attention. Nothing flaunts
or struts, but instruments together wrench

emotion from deep wells. I notice tears
that moisten on my face and wonder why
I am so moved. The cellos calm my fears
while treble singing flute-songs make me cry.

The tympani roll out a thunder cloud,
brass trumpets speak their pieces, brave.
Violas add their mid-range voices, proud,
while clarinetists seem to march and wave.

It might be Beethoven or Brahms or Bach,
Tchaikovsky, Schubert, Handel, Haydn, Liszt.
This music makes me lose all time. The clock
has stopped. I feel my throat choke and the twist

within my heart. Too soon our bravos bring
the maestro back onstage again. Encore,
we clap, encore, and then we watch the king
lead dukes and duchesses through one more score.