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And all that jazz by Johnson, Rose
Cowboys and All That Jazz - For Phillip Garcia by P , Paloma
Keith Vaz and all that Jazz by Foster, Gail
All That Jazz by Hackett, Allen
All That Jazz by Stella, Katherine
space- ALL THAT JAZZ by Strand, Brian
ps ALL THAT JAZZ by Strand, Brian

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The Best All That Jazz Poems

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Think It Over

To get hitched, have kids and all that jazz

is a goal in life, that most everyone has!

        Don't make it your solution, 

        although,  Marriage is, an institution

the same is true of Alcatraz!

Copyright © RALPH TAYLOR | Year Posted 2010

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Alicia Keys

A star awoken, of dreams freely spoken 
All equipped – musicianship 
Unbound to conventional forms, to so adorn
A woman’s worth
Au naturel
Transcendence of thought, unveiled soul
Of tears, of joy
Classical calling 
A dazzling butterfly, hearts identify 
Live on stage, delivered diary 
A poetic page, with essence to free
A monumental flow of harmony 
Unique individuality 

A universal language, a mindful connective 
Emotional growth, inner introspective 
Live and unplugged 
With all that jazz
Rhythm refiner, songs in A Minor
A unique find, true state of mind 
Motivational strive 
Such inner drive
The extraordinary, piano mastery
Musical milestone, a class of her own 
Artistry, scale significantly 
Chord composition, resounding fruition 
Of passion – piano, vocal poetess 
Authentic standard, of no less 

Written by Geraldine Taylor ©?

Copyright © Geraldine Taylor | Year Posted 2017

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Laugh Out Louderick

We know that a poem with legs is a Lim(b)erick;
But do you want to Laugh-out-Louderick?

What's a poem about the NCAA Final Four? - An Above-the-Rimerick
And a poem about a monster? -- A Chimerick
A write that's dull? -- A Dimerick
A pirate's ditty? -- A Fee-fi-fo-fum-Fimerick  
Then there's a tricky one -- That's a Gimmerick

  A church composition? -- A Hymnerick
  An illegal poem? -- An Illegitimaterick
  A poem by James Earl Carter? - A Jimerick
  A poem by a monster from North Korea?  -  A Kim Jong-unerick 
  One that's copied? - A Mimicerick

The Name Game? - A Nymerick 
Razzamatazz and all that Jazz?  -- A Pizzazerimerick  
A poem for a doctor between patients? - A Rinsemofferick
A poem for slender people? -- A Slimerick
A funny three-line pem? -- A Tri-merick

  A poem by Dr. Zeus? - A Vipper of Vipperick
  One that literally chirps? -- A Whippoorwillerick
  A poem that sounds like chimes? -- A Xylophonerick
  One about tuna that's not packed in oil? - A Yellowfineric
  And a poem that goes back and forth? - A Zigzagerick

And all this is, of course, Supercalifragilisticexpialidocierick!

Copyright © Gershon Wolf | Year Posted 2018

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Just Friends

Yeah I know it feels weird
But it's too beautiful to be bad
Now it's scary cos it might be a masquerade
If we happen to be more than what we are
Now that's cos we have become more than I can describe
No one understands when I sing all that jazz
It's already more than the music for mature minds
They go with the sarcastic reply "Just friends, yeah right"
And then I am lost in my definition
A new synonym is added in its oxymoron
She has become my doubted confidante
But only to the minds who refuse to see
If am gonna kick that bucket, it's definitely not your water in it

Copyright © Osita Azike | Year Posted 2016

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Amerigo Vespucci

pardon me
but who the funderbuthers was


inquiring minds and all that jazz

Copyright © Nancy Jones | Year Posted 2011

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n' roll-
two-beat blues

Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2008

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And all that jazz

From East to west enslaved in chains
To work the fields, make tracks for trains
They sang their song antiphonally
To dull their day, hide misery
Those blues notes hit in wailing tone
And words about the heavenly home

Their doleful sounds had paved the way
To blues and jazz in later day
Rhythms and chords became complex
Joplin’s ragtime was a great success
For well practiced piano on old upright
Those old time rags are still a delight

New Orleans was where it began
In ghettos for blacks with time on their hands
From morning to night they developed their skills
On trumpets, sax, it staved off their ills
Mastering their instruments with deft virtuosity
Jazzy riffs marked by smart improvisatory

The Mississipi paddle boats chugged their way
Aboard, the sounds of jazz in full sway
Entertaining, with a sense of pride
Scat singing, cross rhythms, boogie and stride
And took their art to far off places
Strutting their stuff, no airs and graces

White bands were now beginning to swing
Inclusion slowly becoming the thing
With time to go, but heading that way
In church, brilliant gospel helped them to pray
Spirituals continued to highlight their plight
Fair treatment becoming within their sight

Jazz continues to wow one and all
In different forms to really enthrall
Miles Davis and Matt Dennis both just the same
With jazz in mind, they played the same game
Blues and jazz have impacted new sounds
As popular as ever its music abounds


Copyright © Rose Johnson | Year Posted 2017

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Strive For Greatness

Take a swing and knock it outta the park!
You can do anything you set your mind to!
Love your neighbor and all that jazz!
Those words still hold true today.

Don't cry you can do much better than them!
Today is the 1st day of the rest of your life!
Close your eyes and make a wish, it will come true!
Am I still telling the truth?
Always look out for number one!
He who laughs last laughs best!
You gotta take anything to get ahead in this life!
Now it's looking a little more clear.

I'm not trying to be a downer here, just stating facts.
You can't get anything today unless you want it bad enough.
And wishing is a foolish waste of anyone's time.
And we ain't got much of that left.

And just for the record, everyone is not a winner!
If there were no losers in life, what would be the point?
Competition and the strive for greatness make this world the best!
And I challenge anyone that wants to prove me otherwise!
Some will say that this is an evil way of thinking.
Let them say what they want, doesn't bother me.
Because when it is all said and done they will see.
When i'm at the finish line waiting on them.

Copyright © Charlie Rippey | Year Posted 2007

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are you with me, you drowsy pen?…this world is a
freakin’  distorted place. we are  scribbling 
like mites in pillow fights:  dirty nails we have become ,
 contagious  as micro germs trying to make
sense of all the fake reality clinging to sleek fuzz,
pizzaz and all that jazz… ‘cmon, we are all  fragile.
we’re all gonna die. so why be drugged by 
penning  a Lindsay Lohan kind of intoxication? 
look at you, ink! swiveling like whims of  tipsy lines.

far too many blots on your made-up tip…
geez, those  pop culture digs scanning  cosmo hours
 with whisky gulps of idle entertainment, you know, 
 the scratch of feeble hands sucking  materialistic
greed. do you think you’re  rotten smart  in hurried
thoughts of instant gratification? this is for real, for real.

and listen up: have you written about the will of
a spirit for true love of self,  of flowers and others?
nope, not the kind you feel when  intoxicated phrases
are riddled with booze shots… life goes on, every second, 
every written word.  there's something 
unspeakably beautiful about it all...if only you and i 
can share the flow of some kind of wonder  without  greed.

 you’re wasted! pik-bam-boom, take my alcoholic
breaths to the top; see that there is no before or after. 
just one rare, pure “ now” moment:  damn it’s for real, for real… 
our lives are a good freakin’ thing, isn’t it? hey, you’re dozing off !


by nette onclaud
for Elliott Bowe’s Drink Drunken Pen

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2012

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fly me to belgium

fly me to belgium 
for i want to meet the queen
and get a glimpse of 
the man who is the reigning king

fly me  to belgium 
for the festivals and things
i'd run with the hip
and ageless in the cool streets

fly me to belgium
for i want to  see dinant
hear those saxophones
and get lost in all that jazz

Copyright © Faith Elizabeth Brigham | Year Posted 2013

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Confused Beliefs at a Tender Age Part 1

It's safe to assume I had a pretty unorthodox childhood. The blunt of the trauma and confusion being from an innocently named building known as the Stonehouse. Though after the assembly broke up, I believe they changed it to Foundations. Doesn't really matter. My beliefs were muddied back then, when I was a tyke just making it through the day with as much happiness that I could muster. My siblings, however, had it much worse than I. My sister Michelle, thirteen years my senior, grew up without a television set. It's not because we were poor or anything. I wish I could say we were, however; I would even like to say it was because mom and dad were strict and didn't want TV rotting our brains, but unfortunately that's not the case. Watching TV is the work of the devil... didn't you know that? Well I used to believe that anyway. I remember sitting in the living room watching it in secret while dad was away. I remember him saying, in a stern voice "So it seems we're watching TV now, is that it?" It wasn't a question though. He stormed out of the room and we didn't watch anymore TV. He was an Elder of the Stonehouse Christian Church. And that meant business. The great sins according to that house of God were as follows: no guys shall wear sleeveless shirts, nor shall they take off their shirts while swimming (it was always so fun getting that soppy mess of fabric off my chest, after a day at the pool), no one is permitted to listen to any other music besides gospel (the funny thing is that we weren't supposed to be discriminating towards anyone, you know Love Thy Neighbor and all that jazz. No one told me why we couldn't listen to Southern Gospel, though), no fighting back, Turn the Other Cheek, gals should wear dresses, not jeans, their hair must be long and luxurious, and so on and so forth. Even sports were frowned upon if seen from Satan's Telly.

To be continued on in Part 2...

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2013

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Crazy lady with model outfits – what now? You’ll see in a moment *hint* she’s a taker, not a giver ~!
Hah! She’s straight-out self-confident – I must laugh my pants off! What does she have to be confident about? Her eye-contacts? The spells she casts on guys? Her whorish appearances and girly, spunky appeals?  Her taste in clothing? Her taste in music (pop, rap, R & B, and all that jazz - all that Miley Cyrus, P!nk, Kelly Clarkson and Britney Spears songs)? Her skinny, perfect-looking body? Her deceiving looks or plump lips? Her many jewelry? Her makeup collection? Her wigs (she's faaake)? Her so-called "engaged" rings? Her fame? The way she dresses? Her reputation? Her pride (resulting to poverty without dough in her wallet)? Her fortune? So what…woman!
Ah...these evil streaks of Arrogance fulfills her heart of fleeting fame, her inner lusts and avaricious wants
Rage towards her little sister, Faith – the good apple of the bunch (spoiler alert)…the heart’s envy’s deceitful and she’s bound to have shame instead of success on a very high level…she’s charmed by her own bondage…her filthy, meaningless sins that she foolishly commits and feels nothing close to remorse…but what’s worse is that she feels accomplished when she does so, despite the appalling effects of it and she feels superior compared to everyone else, making everyone’s life miserable and feeding on other’s joy and claims it as her own heartlessly . . . (she’s very picky and horrid to be quite frank!)
I think she’s pathetic that she thinks she’s better than everyone else and thinks she’s on top of the world…not looking after her other sisters – she’s the oldest and the most immature of them all…what a pity…she doesn’t care what her rude comments does to others; she treats others with garbage and treats herself like a precious, wealthy princess in a royal, black and white checkered castle
There…I said it! You’re consuming the dirt instead of the truth, burying the lies and reveals the light in everything! It can explain what really happened in our history and in every individual history! Don’t test the truth by uttering those sickening lies. You stink with dishonesty and you like the flavors of fraudulence and your dreams you dream every night doesn’t capture the bigger picture…have a better frame of mind and don’t be polluting me with latest gossips and inconsiderate remarks!
Yeah – your kind, shy, but wild-child-of-a-niece needs to build good character – you have produced rotting, yet sophisticating and prideful fruit! Ew! She don’t need to wear those expensive, showy outfits you hand her grudgingly, but smirking with repellent pleasure! Wear your own swanky, kinky attires – stop being bitter and be a bit sweeter, please? Pretty prelease?

Copyright © JW Earnings | Year Posted 2014

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to the simple girl

You don't always wear mascara
But there's something about your eyes
Your makeup doesn't scare us
Something simple is your surprise
You can't hide what God gave you
Under those shirt and pants
And though you didn't bother
There is still something about your hair
Your not afraid of working
The fixings of here and there
You never find me watching
But sometimes I do stare
With you I find the deepest love
I could ever have
Because your simply beautiful
Without the paint and all that jazz

Copyright © The Situation | Year Posted 2014

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Cowboys and All That Jazz - For Phillip Garcia

Her poetry was conceived
'round fancy pants scraps,
inclined to reverberate wrangles
'tween an I reckon ma'am
and well versed jazzy visuals,
paid no mind to cowboy's
bumbling foolishness &
lumbered foreign gibberish 
knowing full well it was
a lone star disposition,
merely a Texan head trip

See y'all next time...

Written in response to him calling out my words as 'fancy pants'...all in good fun.

"Well yessum we surely do. Y'all fancy type just lasso circles 'round us with yer fancy pants words."

Copyright © Paloma P | Year Posted 2016

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Nov 27,  2016 • By daniel miltz •

Ah, faith! Golly gosh, life in the city!
Hustle and bustle n' a big metro wander
Exhaustion, life, anger and pretty gritty
Misty, grimy lights loudly grab a beggar

The sidewalk shops like a cold surround
Hot action, big ole' vanilla sidewalks 
Graffiti walls, in dab color bound 
Hot streets quietly grab nighthawks

Where is the sunny cloud vapors?
In downtown burg retreats
Out above on dark street skyscrapers
Crestin' over in mean dark streets

U' gotta love corner words
Chatter, rattle, natter, prattle
People jabber like yakkety-yak birds
Cigarettes gab under dark doorway shadow

Gazing in windows calmly at low down
In dusty, dry walk-in cafes
Grimy flowers grab at dead grass mown
Fish eyeing brutal building facades, near dead eye alleyways

Oh, noise!
Man like a machine 
Never like a jackhammer that annoys
The faceless toiler that is mean and lean

Horn noise, action, in a 'crown vic'
Cabbies scowering for revenues
While crashing, dashing in street quick
O' life in bright light big city blues    

Within the blah blah blah, heart of the city
You can endure all that jazz you wish it to be


Copyright © Daniel Miltz | Year Posted 2016

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Keith Vaz and all that Jazz

So farewell Keith Vaz, we don’t really mind
Whether you steered from the front or behind
But the coke was a bit of an epic fail
What’s that, you’re snorting, I didn’t inhale?

So hello Keith Vaz, you’re still knocking about
You can lock up yer closet now yer out
And maybe hang out with Osborne and stuff
Isn’t he a bit of a powder puff?

© Gail Foster 6th September 2016

Copyright © Gail Foster | Year Posted 2016

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All That Jazz

                                    All That Jazz/Dedicated to Horace Silver

That underground sound sizzles because it's hot!
That sound from underground tells a story
Drawn deep from my soul
It's's blue
Sometimes so sublime it soothes you 
Jumping and jiving with a crackle and a pop...

Who's chomping that silver sound from those ivory keys?
Who's thumping that bass and walking the talk?
Trumpets on fire...flying high to dizzy heights!
The sax said, "Just kick back"
The melody's serenade persuades me to relax...
Thunder flash...cymbals crash
Those mighty drums!
Red tom-toms and rumbles set the pace
For all that jazz

Check out our library of thrilling e-books @ in the kindle store, or visit
Thanks and pass it forward!

Copyright © Allen Hackett | Year Posted 2012

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(An A to Z poem)
Each line begins with the next letter of the alphabet.
The X word is unusual these days: Xenia—from xenium (plural = xenia) a gift given to a guest or stranger

A poet's breast within me beats
Beats heart and something I call soul that leaps
Charges, races, racing, finds its feet
Drags me, joyful, joy-filled, from my seat!

Elevating common prose
For pleasures sake, each poet knows,
Gains by use of tools as those
He would at length I’m sure disclose

If payment were perhaps an ear
Just for a moment lent to hear
Keenly offered verse— or beer
Loved by poets too, I fear.

Most often those who are unwise
Negate the poet’s enterprise
Out of their need to criticize
(Perhaps within their misery lies)

Quite certain they must find a fault
Regardless of the somersaults
Some poets do to try and halt
Them, who, in the name of help, assault.

Unless you’ve written words as these—  
Verses made and meant to please
With just a little work to tease
Xenia coaxed from a’s and z’s

Your day lacks all that razzmatazz— as
Zest for verse—  and all that jazz.

Copyright © Kevin Taylor | Year Posted 2016

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Reality in Motion

Why don't you smile, As they do in rococo paintings. Don't think that if we're not Touching, it means I love you less. The lazy cat purrs at our feet, Smug in the warm sunlit apartment, While we sip our coffee, Trying not to look at one another. Just a fantasy, one of many, Yet it fills me with calm. Bubbling streams, the quiet of galleries, And all that jazz. You are another one, darling, Who I have misunderstood. I have stolen a part of your soul, To keep in my mind, to use and abuse. Somewhere along the years, Perhaps even during recent moments, Confusion has muddled my heart, Making me wonder what this really is.

Copyright © Martina Adovica | Year Posted 2016

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Fopdoodle sonnet

Hello y'all,
no more cherry-picking
and double speak,
it just ain't right !

are you out to lunch?
your dialect 
is pure music!

Fair dinkum though,
strine it is not,
nor polite English,
more an Americanism!

Ok, it's pc ,I grant
a royal shibboleth,
douable grammar
and all that jazz!

What? What's that you 
Speechcraft is in your dna 

This  is a poem based on 
history of one hundred 
English words, now part of 
our language.A National 
newspaper invited 
poems to include at least 
25.This is my attempt.

Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2011

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Alone, I Roam Home

Life's like a dream
It has its highs and lows
You're going along with the ride
You might have a boost of self-esteem  
Or it might inject you with blues and abominable frowns 

*chorus* Alone, I roam alone x3
Tonight, I walk alone
Tonight, I will be loner,
but a selfish winner... I suppose 
I'm writing lyrics and poetry, not prose

Anything's better than to be left in my sorrow is licking's licking the smiles off my face
I can't keep pace...I'm floating into space and I'm reaching for the stars now... See me fly so wondrously in thin air
Without a care x2
In the stress-free and full of inner glee
Full of inner light
Full of inner darkness

*chorus* Alone, I roam alone x3
Tonight, I walk alone
Tonight, I will be loner,
but a selfish winner... I suppose 
I'm writing lyrics and poetry, not prose

Taking advantage of a great possibility...
I'm anxiety-free...happy-go-lucky...
But, I feel like I'm a total wreck and a Downright losahhhhh 

*chorus* Alone, I roam alone x3
Tonight, I walk alone
Tonight, I will be loner,
but a selfish winner... I suppose 
I'm writing lyrics and poetry, not prose
*Bridge* Alone, I roam alone x3
Everyone is gone 
From my sight...
It's as if I'm invisible...
No one sees me...

Just build your strengths and deal with them while you carry on 
Just try with all of your might to
Fight the good fight 
But, they tell me to grow up...I was like, "who? Me...oooooh...dude, watch out, alright?"
And I tell them to stop being so mean and nodded them a "what's up"

I'm so far away from my home
Alone, I roam home...come on x2 
They tell me to grow up...
And I tell em to shut up!

*chorus* Alone, I roam alone x3
And no ones cares...
It's so unfair...this pain's unbearable 
Tonight, I walk alone
Tonight, I will be loner,
but a selfish winner... I suppose 
I'm writing lyrics and poetry, not prose and all that jazz...

And I tell em straight to their faces: 

"I'd rather walk alone...
than to walk with you jerks...and don't call my phone"
Ooooooh burn...

Copyright © JW Earnings | Year Posted 2013

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Bando and the Blowfish

Of hubris, overweening pride, 
(a thing the gods can not abide) 
and all the hassle it may bring: 
of this, and blowfish, do I sing. 

The former, we will meet anon 
(it merits being mused upon, 
are hardly handed on a platter): 
accordingly, we'll take the latter. 

The blowfish ("fugu" - Japanese) 
enjoys a life of idle ease. 
When menaced - as his name suggests - 
(to ward off foes) puffs out his chest. 

Another little trick he has 
("defensive posture", all that jazz) 
is, if he's eaten, it's his humour 
to poison (hugely) his consumer. 

How Bando Mitsugoro (the eighth) 
was turned into a wretched wraith 
will be our theme. A living treasure? 
The humble fugu had his measure! 

Kabuki actor, Bando was. 
Revered throughout Japan, because 
he was the latest in a line 
of famous actors, half-divine. 

The fugu's flesh is fairly fab, 
far fitter for a feast than crab 
or shark-fin. Sharp Ketana blade, 
the finest in the cutler's trade, 

is used to slice the fish so thin, 
you hold it up, lets daylight in. 
The poison adds a frisson more, 
to thrill the jaded epicure. 

For years the fugu chef must train, 
avoiding eyes, heart, liver, brain: 
a little poison titillates, 
but too much means the Pearly Gates! 

But Bando was the kind of man 
who says, "Who can't? I know I can!" 
He ordered up a dainty dish: 
four livers of the fugu fish. 

The poison doesn't touch the brain. 
You're dying slowly, but remain 
awake throughout. The living treasure 
could die (and could repent) at leisure. 

So if you're feeling braggart-ish, 
and in a restaurant that's swish, 
impressing others is your wish, 
remember Bando and his fish.

Copyright © Michael Coy | Year Posted 2017

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I was gonna write this over the top poem. 
It was going to have personification and all that jazz
But then I thought 
And I thought 
And I thought 
Then it hit me 
This poem is about simplicity so why not keep it simple.
Roses are violets are blue 
I want an A for this 
How about you.

Copyright © Dee Woot | Year Posted 2015

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Beautiful Romance

I was hoping for a fairy tale ending
To a picture perfect beginning
But when the dream is over
The reality is it was all a dream
See, I want a beautiful romance
Full of kisses, hugs
Little sticky notes professing love
And all that jazz
But I’m not getting any of that
None of it is coming true
I’m no Cinderella
So there’s no Prince Charming
And I’ve lost time waiting for him to come
So there’s no need for a kiss 
To break a spell I’ve put over myself

I was just hoping for a fairy tale ending
To a picture perfect beginning
But I’ve never opened my mouth
To even let him know 
That this is how I feel
I just want a beautiful romance
To that man of my dreams
But when I wake up
He ceases to exist
I’ll never be a sleeping beauty
So he can’t break this spell with a kiss

©Krystal Frances Adams

Copyright © Krystal Adams | Year Posted 2011

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take five..take five.. take five

the melody reiterates

Inspired by Dave Brubeck's hit of 1961

Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2008