There’s picnic blankets spread in patchwork squares

As people wait for music men in suits, with violins,

Their humming strings are buzzing with the bees

That flit between the sandwiches and champagne fizz,

Sipped from plastic beaker cups. And when that music

Strikes a chord, the wall of sound that rushes through

The audience that holds its breath, forgetting drinks

And canapes. They want to let that tide roll in

And let their bodies sing with joy, at the concert

In the field, as the sun sets golden on the stage.