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
anymore.
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.
♥