Irish Tune Poem by Alixis Russell

Dedication for Irish Tune: This poem is dedicated solely to my band and band director. It's a crazy journey, and it's a life style that we claim when we call ourselves bandsmen and musicians. I couldn't be more honored to be on this ride with every single one of you, and I know that you'll understand this poem; I know that you all understand how soon it will be over for us.

Under the hot light on the stage... The conductor raises his arms, baton in hand and the ensemble blooms into position.
An exhale, an inhale, then the first notes sound. This is the piece. He told his musicians to leave a part of themselves behind each time. We grew with the music; we felt each beat.
Only a few bars in, we watch the beautiful movement of his arms, we concentrate on the lyrics, we feel the energy. Breathing all together.
The high voices solo, the rest are quiet. We close our eyes and listen, thanking Grainger for this masterpiece. I listen a row behind me, counting measures in my head: the quite tears of a saxophone player. She feels it, too. Each crescendo, each swell and the emotion builds more.
The lows enter again. We cling, we grasp each note. Every beat takes us closer to the end.
The final bars, I try to understand. I try to make the song mine. 'Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy. I love you so.' The poem's words are on in my head. A father & son, their goodbye, but the hope of Heaven's reunion. I understand.
Looking around at us, playing. Hearts and parts combining... The performance of the year.
This piece at first seemed impossible. But, like life, we pushed forward. Always bettering, longing for perfection. Now, the performance, the stage, they beckon.
We see the double bar approaching. Our lungs ache with our hearts. Director, eyes closed, lost in the sound. To stay this way forever.
'Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy. I love you so.' A father & son, their goodbye. The last 3 chords, they're here too quickly. Each note, I think. One day, we all, too, will say goodbye. To this stage, to each other. A goodbye, but like Heaven's reunion, there is hope for more. Hope for success and a phenomenal life ahead.
It is mine. I understand. The fermata. Eyes up. His fingers come together, gently.
Tears roll down my face as we cut off and exhale. Resonance. He gives the ensemble a look: beautiful approval.
The ride, like life, until the double bar. It's beautiful. It's music. It's Irish Tune.