The Flowers.

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.