Friday, May 05, 2023

Traipsing lightfooted

The news that Gordon had passed on stopped me

His songs, melodies, and lyrics rushed forward

In a room where ya do what you don't confess

I saw him in concert once. In Boston, it was surreal

Having listened to his albums, he played exactly the same way

The minstrel of the dawn is here

That was his thing, he worked hard to create it, we bought it,

he wanted us to get what we paid for

On the summer side of life

His ballads or story songs told many memorable tales

Reaching for his saddlebag, 

he takes a battered book into his hand

When the gales of November came early

If you could read my mind love

What a tale my thoughts could tell

Rows of lights in a circle of steel

It's time for a summertime dream

In a race among the ruins

Ribbon of darkness over me

And the big steel rail

Gonna carry me home to the one I love

And by the way, did she mention my name

If she didn't, I did. And will I remember you fondly

When the green dark forest is to silent to be real

In fond memory of Gordon Lightfoot, his music, his voice