The smell of the turf on a warm September night
The roar of the crowd as the team scores another touchdown
It doesn’t matter; we don’t even react
For our purpose here is something entirely different
The buzzer sounds to end the first half
We take the field, excited and numb from nerves
Our hearts are pounding, the drums are beating
Our feet move mechanically to the beat
Quarter notes and half notes practiced for many long hours
Finally the reward sending chills through our bodies
Our feet stop; our horns come down
We smile at a job well done
Most people don’t notice us
They are so wrapped up in their technology
If they would only take 5 minutes and escape
Into a world of beauty and passion
This is marching band
Sep 29, 2011
Sep 29, 2011 at 10:31 PM UTC
The smell of the turf on a warm September night
The roar of the crowd as the team scores another touchdown
It doesn’t matter; we don’t even react
For our purpose here is something entirely different
The buzzer sounds to end the first half
We take the field, excited and numb from nerves
Our hearts are pounding, the drums are beating
Our feet move mechanically to the beat
Quarter notes and half notes practiced for many long hours
Finally the reward sending chills through our bodies
Our feet stop; our horns come down
We smile at a job well done
Most people don’t notice us
They are so wrapped up in their technology
If they would only take 5 minutes and escape
Into a world of beauty and passion
This is marching band
(C) 2011 Anna Wood
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