Music Isn't Poetry, But Poetry is Music

This poem is about the most unlikely instruments receiving praise.

You hear the clinging and the clanging,
You hear the booming, and the banging.
The sound of malice and oppression,
Then sounds of melody and happy expression.

A feeling so fragile it can break with a squeak,
Droplets of salty crystals will leak.

A fog horn in the distance you see,
Wrapped in silver and gold.
It boasts its sound over all
Hear everything else fall,
as its sound penetrates the human soul.

How does something so big sound sweet,
It drowns out the cliche thought everyone thinks.

It stands tall on its own,
Bright broad like its tone.
What finale it was,
Everyone on their feet,
Cheering, Cheering, Cheering