My Jazz, My Elegy

Reet peteet go the feet in Silk Shiny Stockings toe tapping knee slapping Dizzy's beat with Hendricks' words ... the Poet Laureate of Jazz, dear Jon. Feel the funk laid down by Monk sway with Bird's Just Friends, those sounds that sear through time and heart strings. You'll never hear another era as syncopated as that of the Duke. Gone Miles away now on a Col' Traine .... (please don't go) with only a few left to know the Strange Fruit sung out of Billie's soul whether Strayhorn or Holiday they've all gone away.