From the bandstand on
Summer afternoons would come
The non-bowing of

Clarinets sitting
In for violins and the
Brazen assertions

Of the trumpeting,
The heartbeats of drum,
Saxophoned regrets,

All but drowned at last
In the power and fury
Of the deeper brass:

Then the collected
Composure of the softly
Evaded cadence,

A dying moment
Of a lastingness thenceforth
Ever not to be.