Marimba Player

The mallet strikes a key,
One resounding note.
The crowd grows silent,
Holding their breath.
 
 
 
A forty-five degree angle,
The mallets are still.
Then out of nowhere,
Starts a quiet trill.
 
 
 
A flurry of magical runs commences,
Paired with magical chords.
The melody consumes,
Captivating all those who listen.
 
 
 
A crescendo creates,
So much suspense.
Triple forte is reached,
With one last accented note.

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