Your spirit is here
With me now as I
Listen to recordings you
Left behind. I know it
Is and I know you
Weren’t supernatural,
Weren’t God or any
Such power, but you
Were special. Oh yes.
Even with that too-high
Voice of yours for I
Often considered it so.
And those happy fingers
Strumming those guitars—
Both old and new—
And your chords singing
Out your beautiful versions
Of ‘Let It Be’ or ‘Poems,
Prayers and Promises,’
Just to name two of so many.
You were our sweet John,
No less—a singer-man a great
Number of us would’ve
Nearly given our lives
To have been able to walk in
Your shoes, to have sung
Those precious lyrics that
Delighted millions so naturally,
To have been the proud owner
Of that melodic voice
Capable of calling forth
Tears whether it sang
In a rural or urban
Setting for, like talent,
Beauty is beauty regardless
Of its locales. Feeling
Your spirit again today
Is a tonic, an affirmation
Of life at its best. At
Least you lived, man.
Quite fully you did. And I
Still feel the awe.
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