If we can be anything it's stubborn
But the quandary is which
Stubbornness will win the day
The one we use against ourselves
Or the one that turns into persistence
Patient practice of the elusive
Perfection of our instruments
Even if no one is listening
To our ode to joy agonizingly
Insisting on each and every note
Nor pretending the recital
Isn't coming and there will be
Our parents and angels attending
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