A lonely note rings out, soft yet clear
Piercing through the deserted landscape
Its tenor wafts over all
Yet none stir at its sorrowful tone
It recalls, all too well, the deafening octaves
Of a time, so recent, yet wiped away forever
A town indelibly etched in black
To the violent blasts of flamboyant horns
Its companions pillaged, their beautiful voices drowned out.
Strings of hair, ivory shards, brass bells
All that remain of an assemblage so grand.
And so, from the royal quorum, the programme has been altered.
Just that, but not erased.
From a symphony so grand, to a solo in a deserted land,
The legacy endures.
The guest plays on.
Never before has he starred.
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