The World Adjusts for Orchestra
by Dilbert Blilbert
Monday, August 19, 2002
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On Copland's orders, penned unique
For every seated muse-
The basses, set on sinewed strings,
Adjust my reds to blues.
Sparrows turn to snowy doves,
Woodwind 'neath their wings;
A breeze tunes up the silent trees,
And in its passing, sings.
The washboard eighth-note clouds waltz by,
A curtsy on each third;
"Just raise your arms and you can fly,"
The music said - I heard!
And even now, as headlong ending
Halts as was composed,
I've shut my mind in world's respite,
The symphony enclosed.