The air is crisp

and the night is still;

we wait in silence

and study drill.

The field is empty

waiting for us to fill

the crisp air with music

and our hearts with thrill.

We find our spots

and scatter on the field

the first notes come to life

and to the drums we yield.

Our instruments, our weapons

which we so proudly wield

unstoppable we are together

with a wall of sound as our shield.

A soft patter falls on our heads,

mother nature’s will.

This heavy fog cannot

our good nature kill.

As the final note rings out

we retreat with expert skill

and leave the air ever crisp

and the night forever still.

© Autumn Siders 2009

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