Follow the Conductor by Don A. Smith and AI

I thought I knew the music,  
I’d practiced every part.  
I had a little repertoire,  
And knew most things by heart.  
I watched the way you moved with me,  
I listened when you sighed,  
And usually I knew just when  
To linger or to glide.

But then you raised a finger  
Like a maestro with her score:  
“A little softer there, please…  
Yes… now give me just a little more.”
I said, “But just last Tuesday  
You loved it when I played this way.”  
You smiled and said, “That was Tuesday.  
We’re playing something else today.”

[Chorus]
So I follow the conductor,  
Every motion, every sign:  
Faster, slower, hold the rhythm,  
then you change your mind.
Pianissimo… crescendo…  
“Stay right there—yes, that’s the spot.”  
I’m a very willing musician,  
I just play the notes I’ve got.

I keep a whole collection  
Of techniques inside my head:  
Little riffs and combinations,  
Things remembered from the bed.  
Some are tender, some are playful,  
Some have earned a grand review—  
But there’s no guaranteed selection  
That will always work for you.

For quite a while I had it—  
Every measure seemed just right.  
You were breathing with the rhythm,  
Everything was sounding tight.  
Then suddenly your hand came up:  
“No, slower now… not quite.”  
What worked so well a minute back  
no longer delights.

[Chorus]
I try to follow the conductor,
Working hard to catch the beat;
Every phrase builds expectation—
Then the downbeat moves its feet.
We hold the tension, change the rhythm,
Make me wait for the release;
Just when I think we’re resolving,
You change your mind and change the key.

And that’s the thing that gets me:  
Same musician, same old hands,  
Same beloved instrument before me—  
Still, the music makes new demands.  
One night you want a ballad,  
Next time something with more drive.  
It’s amazing how much music  
One small orchestra can hide.

Now my part is fairly simple.  
My score would fit upon a card:  
“Show up eager, pay attention,  
And occasionally work hard.”  
But yours has markings in the margins,  
Changes penciled everywhere.  
And somehow every new revision  
Makes me glad that I’m still there.

[Chorus]
So I follow the conductor,
Trying hard to catch the beat;
Every phrase builds expectation,
Every pause delays release.
My fingers ache, my lips grow weary,
Still you signal, “Hold that note…”
And I start to wonder softly
How much longer I can cope.

You stretch the rhythm, shift the accent,
Make me wait, then change the key;
Just when I think we’re resolving,
You conduct another melody.

Now I don’t complain too much  
When you change the tempo twice.  
I watch the hands, I take the cue,  
I try to follow your advice.  
Because somewhere near the ending,  
All the coaching disappears.  
You stop conducting altogether—  
And music takes over from here.

No more “higher,” no more “slower,”  
No more counting, no more signs.  
I know I finally found the passage  
When your body falls in line.

[Final Chorus]
So I follow the conductor,  
Every tremble, every cue.  
There may never be one perfect way  
To play this song with you.  
Every evening has its tempo,  
Every night a different score—  
And if the concert ends with “Bravo…”

Well…

I’m always ready for one more.

She smiles and whispers,  “Encore.”

And I say,  “From the top?”