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Ten Men
Sat 10 men on the podium of lacquered wood,
With lips a-puckered and raised brasses,
Glimmering under the relentless glare,
Then it came,
Those rolling, unbreakable rhythms with crashing cymbals;
A song of sultry timbre, seductive nuances and lazy luxury,
Arose from poised lips of the penguin-suited men.
The maestro strutted among his band of wundermen,
With lips jealously locked to a winded contraption,
Oozing off mirthful merriment and impish sonority,
Fluid melodies shimmered and merged.
Plaintive trumpet pleading with the capricious trombones,
An alto inviting its sopranic companion to duet,
Vivacious embellishment of four-figured chords,
The tuba's authoritative grunts brings to reality,
The dreamy wanderings of its prodigious siblings,
10 men electrified the evening with their joshing wits,
Sat each man with his musical baby,
Embraced within throbbing confines of the heaving bodies.
Looked upon with indulgent longing by the corporeal beings.
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