The Trumpet's Last Call
By: Agent Grai
The fanfares die out, and the audience leaves,
The drums and the bells ring their last sound,
The last bow is made, the last concert is seen,
The last beat has passed, the last of the mound,
The last note has died, serene and profound.
The band exits now, no tunes left to play,
Back to the band room, they march to the end,
Through two doors they head, to go on their way,
They look back for a moment; they look back for a friend,
Their time to leave has come, their hearts they must mend.
The horns are packed up, for the very last time,
The room is locked up, the lights do not glow,
A silence has fallen, the bells do not chime,
Time to move on, they leave their last show,
Their future is calling, so on they must go.
Four years of their life have been spent in this class,
Bringing music to us all, bringing joy to us all,
The memories stay, much too important to pass,
It is now time to leave, to move on, and not stall,
One more tear is shed, for the Trumpet's Last Call.
Written in commemoration of the seniors of 2001-2002 that were enrolled in band, as well as any other graduating class, past or future. Good luck in your hopes and dreams of tomorrow.