It was agreed that we should write of flowers ,
So the thought that came to hand,
Was to write of something different;
So I chose The Flowers Band!
They glide in order onto the stage
Horns gleaming in the light;
They take their ordered places,
Sitting left to right
In the corner the percussionist
Trying to hide away;
But everybody knows he’s there,
When the Band begins to play.
The Conductor strides onto the stage
And bows to the gathered throng;
Then turns to get the band to play,
The music for which we long.
Precision rules as from the brass
An awesome sound is sent;
The audience gasp as this great tune
Is to the ether sent.
The sound so pure and rich and deep
Is awesome to behold;
As from this brass filled room,
A tuneful tale is told.
They play for the love of music
Which is seen in all their faces;
And for people the world over,
In a myriad of places.
They come at last to the show’s end,
Their faces all a glitter;
Then straight off down the pub,
For a pint of Flowers Bitter.