Light at the End of the Tunnel

The show he picks,

The minds he tricks,

His intentions good,

His position understood.

The sweat he sheds,

The marchers he's fed,

The tears that burn,

The trust he earns.

His heart that thumps,

The tired marchers slump,

The uniforms are new,

The football seasons too.

Thunder that rolls,

Damaged colorguard polls,

The thought of quitting,

The sight of burns High spitting.

His looks that kill,

At his words, we feel chills,

The pain we feel,

We win so Burns can't steal

The medals on our chests,

Knowing we've done our best,

The cheers and screams,

The gold gleams

The pain we've always felt

In our hearts seems to melt,

On our faces, the cold victorious air stings,

Brucey is our king!

A/N: This is a short poem about our challenging band director, Dave Bruce. He treats us like shit sometimes, but he's like a father in the end. We all realize that after our first year. The question remains…Will he always be there to finish his role as "Father" in our lives?