You can see they're in love, the musicians,

as they lift their instruments like new babies

from the swaddling plush of weathered cases

assemble them with pride, pipework with 

keys and slides, the cacophony of bright silence

before the performance.

Each one a treasure house of stories

stamped with number, maker's name. 

 

A soldier with his weapon might feel the same

proud and responsible enforcing a serious message

a creator of effect not easily dismissed

a player of fields, of hate or love

of blessings or curses who the fates have kissed.