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Band Room

Poetry By: Da Rae

Tags: Music

This is a poem of passion about my love. It is also sort of a dedication to my favorite band director.

Submitted:Mar 3, 2010    Reads: 314    Comments: 4    Likes: 4   

Band Room

Each and every day,

I walk into the band room,

and let the smells of cork grease

and valve oil fill my nose.

I go to the back room

and my eyes roam the

shelves of old instruments in cases, patiently waiting,

to be played once again.

I find my music,

sit in my seat,

run up the scale.

The sound of music fills the empty air.

I pull out ancient

pieces from my folder to play.

Yellowed by age,

playable by all.

After my warm up,

I head to the stage.

It's time for a concert

to begin.

I sit in the middle of the stage.

I begin to play.

The music overtakes me and the

nerves disappear;

I'm lost in music.

When I finish,

faint clapping begins

and grows, slowly,

into a thunderous commotion.

I feel so proud and

lucky to stand on that


standing for the best director of them all.

The concert ends,

I walk off that stage slowly,

for I do not want to lose

that feeling.

But I realize,

the best is yet

to come.

I will stand on that stage again.


I remember that

each and every day,
I walked into that band room

and saw Mrs. Stiner's smiling face

looking out to me….

-Da Rae, 3.3.10


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