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
Autumn Siders 