An empty theatre waiting to be filled,
Hundreds of voices waiting for their cue,
Inhaling dust of cinder blocks playbilled
In fervent hope of doing something new.

Yet while the marshaled forces may impress,
Acoustic problems plague the evening’s sound,
Despite the vocal power we possess,
Transcendence never quite gets off the ground.

And yet, glorious potential lurks beneath
The needful repetitions and parts skipped,
Experience to all of us bequeathed
The skill of soon forgetting that we tripped.

The stage may change, performers will endure.
Tomorrow will be better, I am sure.