The river plays forte in the great symphony.

It is rushing rapids harmonizing and singing,

with the whimpering willows cry of agony.

Performing to an audience that is ever unforgiving.



Together they crescendo in a constant state of growth.

The enigmatic emilia rises seasonally in a swaying staccato.

In unison with the baby breath’s bracing baroque,

They sing an oath to provide for the audience, melodies to digest and notes for their homes.



The music paints the audience an image of mountains and lakes,

A game of association where the music always wins.

A shrill flute transports them to a medieval forest

And a humid humming harmony to another place just with a chorus.



Although masterfully musical and mindfully magnificent,

The audience seems uninterested, and the sheet music is undisciplined.

The geodes underground and leaves atop the trees, glance at their score.

Looking back at an audience who gazed up, asking for more.



Wondering for whom they are playing for,

And confused as to what happened to the score.

As this point in the symphony was never in writing

and the quiet breeze of woodwind is hidden but fighting.



As the great symphony begins to diminuendo,

The audience do not rise for a standing ovation on any occasion.

Despite their filled stomachs and roof over their heads,

They are unimpressed with the great symphony, leaving, demanding.



Together completing the final imperfect cadence

that was intended to move from a first to a fifth.

The great symphony continues playing sadly,

To an audience that will soon no longer exist.