The night outside the concert hall is cold.
The audience arriving? Most are old.
Some push their walkers. Many walk with canes.
Some are in wheelchairs. Nobody complains,
For they’ve been promised bodies remade, new.
How can that be? The music holds a clue.
They’ll hear a sound they hope that heaven makes,
A passion near unbearable to take.
And at the end, these broken ones will rise
As their applause begins and never dies.
