On this fall day washed clean by wind and rain,
in this parking lot of this old high school,
everything gleams, every instrument,
every uniform, every young musician.
Every valve and stop, every bell and curving throat,
whether brass or chrome, all sparkle
in the sun, all glitter and glint at every step,
syncopating sound with light.
Every glossy-sided drum, big or small,
every hoop and tension post,
every white-taped drum stick flashes,
rhythm flaring through the lot.
Every uniform looks newly loomed,
clean and crisp as this day, each button
and buckle twinkles, each braid and tassel,
each badge and banner winks with sun.
So, when they march off, each shined shoe in step,
they coruscate, their music scintillates ‒
our own children made of light and sound,
giving both back to us in this parade
of our best wishes.