Rhapsody In Blue

When I was a

boy, I listened

to this song.

You cannot hear

it now, I

know. There are

a lot of songs

you can’t hear


The Song of Roland;

the song of my heart

when first we kissed,

the Song of Bernadette.

No, I never

kissed her; the

song of half a

dozen guys

pulling all along

a rope at the

same time. All

together now. No,

you never heard

those songs, but

I heard them

and my heart

still thrills.

I hum them.

“I’ve got a gal

that’s mighty sweet.”

Here’s another. “Oh

Mary, Mary you wicked

girl, what are you

doing in this desperate

world? You’ll

ruin your fame

and fortune too,

by playing on

your,” the way my

grandfather taught me.

We used to sit

there fishing and

I’d take a puff

of his cigarette.

You should have heard

grandma, “Jack,” she’d

say, “what are you

doing to that boy?”

Never mind. It takes

all kinds. The king asked

the prime minister,

“How is it

you drink so much

in the middle

of the day?” and

Churchill answered,

“Practice.” That

kind of song,

the one we

sing when we

want to be

human, heroic

and happy,

harmonious too

if you care to

play well with

others, but if

not then be

glad you are

alone and life

as blue as it

may sometimes tend

to be is still

a rhapsody.