Soft words ride melodious strings,           
Sunshine to my heart, baritone trills,
To regal Rockies strums and sings,
Echoes to granite, yodels to rills.

Cowboy at times wanted to be,
Under the wild Montana skies,
But Colorado would rather see,
Whole outdoors his favorite size.

Found himself in a wrenching trap,
Loved his music, it kept him sane,
His fans would please, all over map,
Fly away, leave on a jet plane.

Silken smooth his melody flows,
Promises of poems and prayers,
Tales of Darcy Farrow’s sorrows,
Of high Calypso’s eco-cares,

Matthew, hero in his eye,
Gold, gold, was windy wheat field,
Blue, blue, Kansas summer sky,
Love, just life’s essence to wield.

When sorry for the way things are,
Rustic country roads lead back home,
Happy to leave city afar,
‘Til on jet plane again must roam.

 A storm across his valley rolled,
Sweet baritone trill, how still now lies,
Left deepest loss for us to hold,
Pulled down from our blue, blue skies.

To his timeless beauty still listen,
CD notes clarion clear,
But eyes always tear and glisten,
When John’s sweet voice we hear.

© 2005 R. Leland Waldrip