music seems to be my life

Tapping of feet like oncoming stampede
and clamoring of notes in arranged wysteria,
one note out of key, a black dot to impede
sends a mass of four score into hysteria.
The maestro looks to me, cowering in fright,
and without a word he knows I didn't play E flat right.
He taps his baton on his conductor's stand
as he drills us over the section in calmed demand.
I scold myself silently in much anger,
and outwards play embarrassment off with laughter;
somewhere I feel the wrongs of a pang here,
this note I cannot miss hereafter.
I tend to my duties with my stand pitched high,
birthing beautiful aires of melancholic pride;
time forthcoming for our talent to shine,
Symphonic Overture has a euphonium soli!
Sort of, but that doesn't matter.
We've only this part, I yelp in giddy glee,
but haste to the latter, look at the key!
It's set in C, with no peaks or plains to lay;
how can this be? When it pours, it definitely rains.
All set to start at mark E, tempo stated;
ledgers wail, melodies sail, all percussion reverberated;
epic march of men at park with drummer boy to tow.
Alas, the freedom bell tolls, with children along to flow.