What a fine evening it was,
Sitting there listening,
Listening to The Proms.
Smetana started the evening.
The Bartered Bride came along,
Showed her beauty,
In the sounds of the music.
Then came Pyotr,
Tchaikovsky by name.
An aria sang by a glorious soprano
Filled me with delight.
Theses were just the starters,
The main was to come.
A fraught symphony
Showing the pain of his life
As he came to the fore
In the Russia of old,
Shostakovich showed them,
Showed them that music had power,
Such wonderful power.
There was I in the dimmed light,
Music surrounding me,
Poetry being read,
And a fine malt being sipped.
For what more could I ask?