In halls where whispers of ages past reside,
A symphony of echoes, where dreams abide.
The maestro’s baton, a wand of fate,
Conjures notes that time cannot abate.

Strings that weep with joy and sorrow,
Each vibration a promise of tomorrow.
The piano’s keys, a cascade of light,
Painting stars in the darkest night.

Winds that sing with nature’s voice,
Each breath a reason to rejoice.
The drum’s heartbeat, steady and true,
Pulses life into a world anew.

Through the corridors of endless time,
Classical music, a sacred rhyme.
A dance eternal, pure and grand,
Holding all within its hand.