Hark the Kings of twilight sing
In strong discordant notes so clear
Not strangely, in some harmony,
When tenor tones caress the ear.

Discordant with a resonance
Both deep and bellicose with bass,
A vibrant tremor through the air
Creates sensation’s crest of grace.

And then a silent pause is felt
As soft violas fill the void
And build to carve a melody
Of pulsing rhythm so employed.

A cascade of exotic sound,
A riot fills the senses loud
And smiles of audience grow wide
As wonderment entrances crowd.

With golden light of setting sun
To purple-grey striated sky,
A swelling chorus lifts the song’s
Magnificence to place on high.

A brace of trumpets catch the light
As silver beauty fills the air,
The roll of tymphoni impacts
As plucked mass violin declare…

The cadence hangs in holy light
A breathless expectation nigh,
A soaring riff of brass and string
Brings grand finale to the sky….

A raging beauty fills the soul
The audience as one arise
To drown the theatre with applause
So raucous wild as to surprise!

The orchestra now take the bow
The proud conductor so defers...
For streams of sweat run down his back,
An ice cold beer he now deserves.

Marshalg
At the Auckland Symphonia
4 August 2012