The Band Remembers
She played the clarinet and wrote good songs,
But now she's gone forever. Like a bell
Her voice rang out. She wove a kind of spell
That time in distance just prolongs.
Tonight it seems we hear her just as well
As when she stepped up to the microphone,
The spotlight making her look all alone,
And smiling, sang as sweet as muscatel.
Here -- listen to the tears of that trombone,
Brass and breath together sadly massing
In a chorus meant to mourn her passing,
And now a blue, lamenting saxophone...
© Kevin Berland, 1999
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