Listening to your CD,
the re-issue of your old LP,
I peruse your photos in the booklet –
hard to believe twenty-five years have passed
since we lost you to that freak accident.
Only thirty, young folk-rocker in your prime –
you smile through the pictures, impishly,
under bushy red hair, and a glint in the eye,
sparkle of promise, hugging your precious guitar.

The voice from my speakers is honeyed, mellow,
the color of burnished wood.
As you sing your songs, and the songs of others,
your face and voice will never age,
never embarrass itself with comebacks or nostalgia.
You stay as we remember you:
young, gifted, vibrant.

Every year I look at your pictures, hear your voice,
they seem younger, and I feel older, further removed.
What would you be singing today?
Certainly your signature song,
“Who Knows Where the Time Goes?”
Who, indeed?

07/16/2002

Posted on 07/16/2002
Copyright © 2024 Bruce W Niedt