Impatiently the clock’s baton
Taps the music to start up.
The orchestra is tuning.
I’ve heard a growling stegodon,
The fluting zip of positron,
The whine of humming magnetron,
A loon’s tragic crooning.
The melody’s been fugitive,
The theme wholly evasive.
The direction’s inconclusive.
Anticipations are abrasive..
The composer is a mystery,
With a foggy, misty history
Evoking mass confusion
As to the true conclusion.
The orchestra should soon commence.
The piece, of course, will be immense.
And, hopefully, it will make sense,
For up to now the tune-up has been looney.
The clash of motivations
Is amorphous, a shapeless hapless discord, a din.
The band is ready, waiting,
The baton anticipating.
The time has come for the music to begin.