Hot lights shine, burn yellow, orange, blue and red
Reflecting back off crimson shoes and scarlet laces
Clashing with those many white and black clad
Sharp counterpoint to their serious, sober faces

Red the vagrant color corrupts the evening’s show
Bright blood, a wound, mimicked by a flautist’s tie
Stark food-color hair in back, black above, red below
Most of them look so professional, you can only sigh

Whenever student musicians march out onto the stage
No one ever knows how it will go, quite what to expect
It’s not simply a question of the selections, time or age
These have far less influence than you might suspect

When student choirs, jazz- or concert-bands are young
Audiences hoot, holler, applaud in the silences between
While with their smart phones snap pictures, text, hum
Small blue screens everywhere make me want to scream

I know some don’t get decorum, though I think they should
Electronically wired, now far too late for them to ever learn
New technology, ever growing, ubiquitous and oh so rude
Will go unnoticed, except by me, and my past will not return

The melody, harmony, rhythm stand paramount, so cut some slack
These students  play and sing, attend, don’t think it such a wonder
Culture, as it does,  has transformed in glory unimagined, Mack
Bringing us, if we’re ready, to a world of music, joy and splendor