Sestina-A form I have never tried before and hope I have not disgraced with this poem.

At this concert, the music
Of the band, the raised voices
Consumes the listener. Dances
Upon the senses, the fiddle
Singing to the tune’s rhythm,
Fills the room with joy.

The audience, brimming with the joy
Of listening to the music
Tap their feet to the rhythm.
In each song, different voices
Following the lead of the fiddle
Cause the listeners’ hearts to dance.

When the banjo weeps, a slow dance
Of human suffering repressing joy
Until the entrance of the fiddle
Once again, happiness in the music.
With each note, the dulcet voices
Slide through the song rhythm.

The tune quickens its rhythm
Feet tap again, itching to dance
Caught up in the reel, the voices
Pause, leaving room for the joy
To come bursting out of the music
Created by the song of the fiddle.

Water for the player of the fiddle
She is worn out by the rhythm,
The audience claps for the music
To continue its lively dance
They long for an overdose of joy
A sojourn now, the babble of voices.

Intermission, each with their voice
Speak of the guitar, the fiddle
In the face of each listener, joy
A spring in each step, a rhythm
From the heart, they long to dance
To fall back into the music

They feel the joy of the voices
Enraptured by the music of the fiddle
Sensing the rhythm of the dance.