He sang of nature wild and free
and rode the waves upon the sea.
Found wonder in a bird in flight
and stargazed during the dark of night.
Somewhere above the muse still sings,
lifted high on celestial wings.
His soul flies over the eagle's nest,
as mortal remains are put to rest.
Riding the wind and sky above,
he sings his songs of home and love.
Country roads and apple pie;
he's left the earth to soar the sky.
Released from every earthly care,
I know he's found his mountains there.
The songwriter's gone but the music lives on.
July 5, 2015
Copyright © Jan Terry | Year Posted 2015