Ode to Ray after 30 years or "How did this happen?"

What’s with this conductor named Ray?
Who still writes music all day.
Of a sudden this year,
He knew it was clear
That the years had piled up in some way.

It is just as the leaves disappear
That his mind turns to choir with cheer
As the letters went out,
He started to shout
Is this really my thirtieth year?

He looked at himself with dismay
Conductor-hair on his head was now gray!
There’s some sagging and wrinkle
By blue eyes that still twinkle,
But no way to keep aging at bay.

Somehow at some time he was thin
With long hair and that beard on his chin A ponytail flying,
An earring supplying
That hippie so happy within!

He looked forward to seeing his singers,
Smiled at putting them through his own wringers,
Hear the inevitable call
Of “Where are we?” from all
Of the chorus that followed his fingers.

It’s the tenors that give a hard time,
Though mostly it’s really quite fine,
But there are a few
Who won’t get that cue,
And the whole sing could turn on a dime.

After thirty he’s surely is master
of the musical parts, and our laughter,
The better we sounded,
The more that he pounded
Though the “Messiah” need not go much faster.

Now let’s think this over once more,
How did all those years hit the floor?
But this is the thing,
(And it has a nice ring):
Thirty years at this. Now what’s in store?

This is not the end of his story
Of Ray and his kingdom of “glawry”
Be gone days of yore;
Can we stand thirty more?
Yes! We’ll sing ‘til our choruses bore ye.

Hattie Cleveland