The Conductor

Staring at the loose leaf
With instrument in hand

Waiting for imagination
To conduct something grand

To settle the orchestra
Of ideas in the pit

A few taps on the table
Quieting the script

The flow begins slowly
The string section serenades

Like a bow crossing the strings
The pen starts to sway

The intensity rises as the
Horns take their cue

Notes dance across the page
A tympani of cymbals crash through

The story reaches its crescendo
Symphony in full swing

Conductor slows back the tempo
Instrument continues to sing

The sonata is reached
Piece is coming to a close

Instrument is placed down
Completed orchestration of prose.



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