Another Beautiful Morning and Everything Still Waiting to Be Lived

by Lucy Adkins

How wonderful to lie in bed
early morning late summer,
the windows open, and hear

the sound of the high school band
practicing two miles away—
the sounds fading, then growing loud
again as they perform an about-face
and march in the other direction.

The trumpets stake out their claim,
tubas, clarinets, oboes,
the cadence of drums more rattle
than bang—a small varied army
advancing across the plain.

How beautiful to be young
and to belong, to walk
beside your fellow, lift a flute
to your lips, a trombone,
wrap the great sousaphone
of your life around you
and play something grand.