I started my conducting classes
Under a mockingbird no Bach
But a stern insistence on pitch
And abrupt modulations
Which ignored my instructions
The careful tempi I'd worked out
For the wind and string sections
But he was composing on the spot
Midway breaking my flying baton
I had no idea of what he wailed
Real music was or could be
I'd lost all sense of harmony
Yet patiently he'd return
And we'd resume our scales
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