And then his baton�? twirled and bowed

With lordly grace before his crowd.

The leading fiddle plucked a chord

When called upon by Hume our lord

And joined in chorus soft and sweet

By other strings with each a beat

That caused the atmosphere to rise

To waltzing tempo, and with eyes

Of one whose world romanced by sound

And batons twirled, he gazed around.

A smiles warm glow raised slowly

As with each drum blow,

And broadened as each wood wind sounded,

Heralding the cellos grounded,

Trumpets soared, percussion pounded

Lifting all to wild applause �?And shouts of bravo

- Please encores!

Yet as the last notes sparkle faded,

Our Hume, job done but far from jaded

Turned, responding to the parlay

And bowed with pride for his grand finale.                              

¤Aü§Póꆙ¤

December 2000:                                         for a colleague on his retirement