FREE CONCERT
Sunday in the park
September – San Francisco
Band Shell orchestra
Beneath the last of warming suns
Conductor taps his wand
Preparing for the anthem
Some now stand
But others are too old, or tired.
A flock of pigeons flare above us
Startled by the sudden blare of brass and drums
Their loose formation makes a graceful, sweeping curve
With almost military grace
Above the scattered crowd
Eye glasses glitter
Watching as they wheel against a hard blue sky
Returning bravely to their nests when the triumphant noise has ended
They all know the score.
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