How egotistical we are
To take that master piece of music
And claim it as our own.
.
How pompous we are
To assert ourselves
As so inextricably linked
To its grandiosity and perfection
As to render a false connection thereto
For all of time.
.
And how noxious we are
Not to slow down and look around
And notice the music of people’s laughs,
People’s smiles,
Not to notice the music of police sirens,
Motorcycles and freight trains in the night
As they all create an orchestra of their own
Under chameleonic skies.