Band Room

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is a poem of passion about my love. It is also sort of a dedication to my favorite band director.

Submitted: March 03, 2010

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Submitted: March 03, 2010

A A A

A A A


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

stage;

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


© Copyright 2017 Da Rae. All rights reserved.

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