By Abe V Rotor
You’re silent while the soloist takes the stand,
When the flute shrills and stills the air;
In unison you play your part with the band,
Li’l known, unassuming, without flair.
When the crowd goes home, bare is the ground,
Save footprints, trash and the chilly air;
You record the event before it is gone,
Keeping its memory in your lair.
Years after, children in some lonely place
Come to hear you play the tune of old;
Music of war and of peace, music of grace,
Of thunder and the gods all told.
Music not words, the tongue of all nations,
The band is now gone and you’re alone,
The bridge you built links the generations.
To bring back heritage to its throne.
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