The baton

The orchestra it sits. assembled
 Instruments not raised and ready
Chatter is the score the rising hububb
Now comes the conductor short and chubby

Comand the rostrum with his presence
 Robes he wears, the suited elegance
He turns about with confidence
The upturned looks and baited breath

He holds the floor in a pregnant pause
With arms aloft the baton raised
All eyes await that downward progression
That stick hold each players to attention

They will follow as it dances
Rapid movements, slow cadenza
 Speaking as the melody intended
That stick the ruler till its ended

Silence or cresceno bellow
All in time and fathful follow
Power born of disciplin and talent
To interupt a crime abhorrent

Raise the orchestra out of their chairs
Take the cheering and applause
Boquets and the roses thrown
That digit music knot and grain

That metronome that rocks
The word it brings straight from the Gods
For music speaks all languages
A wand that lifts it from of the page