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Poem


I tried to write a song like John Denver would have done
Thought the way to do it was to emulate each one
Went to Colorado for a Rocky Mountain High
Found heaven near Shenandoah, but inspiration still not nigh.

Left my wife on a jet plane, didn't tell her what for
She would have disapproved, said get a job, what a bore.
In Wyoming, I camped under the moon
I tried to compose, but didn't like the tune

[chorus]
Channeling Denver, songwriter to emulate
I had the acoustic guitar, just couldn't be great
Searching for lyrics in that mountain space
Found peace, but no words in that quiet place

South wind blew in that East Texas town
Had a momentary idea, but couldn't write it down
At wits end, followed a country road home
disheartened, halfway, I sat on a stone.

I thought of John Denver's last flight, his plane fell to the sea
A tragic snapshot of that image before eternity
Remembered his song about his old guitar
In the music pantheon, I hope forever a star

[outro]
I gave up on the lyric, felt writer's block
Did I have anything worth saying?  Tried to take stock
Then looked into my past, found what I had sought  
A melody of my own, unpretentious and taut   
But don't misunderstand, don't get me wrong
I'll can't wait to see the Wrangell mountains and play a John Denver song.

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