A brass band played at my birth!
Trumpets and cymbals,
and a brother like myself
joined my entrance to the world.
This really happened,
though I do not remember it.
It is a fact, a myth, a legend,
but most of all a fact,
and I wonder
if a band will play when I die.
If the bandmaster would be so kind,
and fate so kind,
that trumpets and cymbals
would announce my end,
the scattering of the light,
the blue tide of night
entering my lips.
Who can brag that a band did marches,
and the world announced itself,
and ages later,
I would think back on my ticketless soul,
and wonder.
Will a band be nearby,
in a field,
the sun glittering like a brass cymbal,
ringing in my ears,
to play the last tune,
the exit march,
and the air
full of wonderful music?