At Tanglewood

My daughter sings at Tanglewood;
I see her face upon the screen
From darkened candle-flickr'ing lawn.

The camera pans across the chorus,
Lights upon her, cuts away.
My little girl, my pretty girl, is gone.

The tympani's the focus now,
Now flutes, bass fiddles, oboe, horn.
Now chorus! There's her small white face!

The camera zooms, her daughter cries,
"There's Mommy!" Just an instant, then
A close-up of Ozawa takes her place.

She's there again, dark eyes so earnest,
Small mouth open, hair cascading,
What a miracle to see
My darling girl upon the stage
Upon the screen, upon the lawn
Among the flick'ring lights

At Tanglewood