The Songsters

Led into the holiest place, bar by bar,
Selected phrases coupled with dotted crotchets,
Melody, harmony and dynamics to stir the soul,
Lines and spaces translated by a composer’s hopes
To be born as music in the listener’s waiting heart.
Until the brigade reaches the finale – legato, cantabile,
With what should normally evoke thunderous applause,
Greeted instead by a moment of quiet appreciation,
Hung with the emptiness of sounds echoing
As the cadence dies in the stillness of the worshipping mind,
And they stand statuesque, transfixed by their own offering,
The diaphragm immobile in a silent semibreve,
Until the leader flexes fingers, drops the arms,
And we all relax, ready to receive the Word.
September 2013 
Photo: Bromley Temple Songsters - Brent Forrest