Like the maestro conducts his orchestra,
We each conduct life’s symphonies.
Trumpet’s thunder on our highs,
Drums boom with our surprise,
Fiddles wail out with our cries.
They don’t all play as instructed,
But, each instrument has it’s part.
Not every note that is conducted,
May be played right from the start.
We may create the rhythm,
Mistakes may make our blight.
But, our control dies with ’em,
If our musicians can’t unite.
Never stop conducting,
One day, the notes will be played right,
And everything you’ve struggled for,
Will set the stage