by
B. Kamen

Whenever February brings
a winter chill,
I think about that song, and
see you standing there
on that beach,
white sand, blue water,
palm trees casting
shade, solitude, and
you swaying to the
sound of the waves
with your pony tail flowing down
blowing' in the wind.

Sometime after that first hello,
we were like children again,
building castles, palaces, and
writing our
names in the sand,
snapping pictures of each other,
and watching that flimsy
paper and string drifting on the breeze.

Turn a different corner
we never would have met,
and faint hope never
would have soared.

When I hear that song,
I think about you,
I think about three stars falling
from the sky.
Strange
how a song
sounds like a memory,
like a recording
of a summer's day on that beach.

The day the music died,

Like a beach-pea blossoming
and binding the sand,
our hearts were blossoming and
binding love.

Sometimes we'd shout,
sometimes we'd doubt,
but we knew
true love ways,
and Oh Boy,
when we were together
all the world could see
we were good for each other.

When I hear that song,
I think about you,
I think about three stars falling
from the sky.
Strange
how a song
sounds like a memory,
like a recording
of a summer's day on that beach.
The day the music died,

At sunset,
we would spread a blanket,
unpack a basket,
and lay back
for a picnic on the beach.

Sometime following that
sunset
in the still of the night
to angel of the morning
the silence of your
gestures and your smiles
attracted me
then you said stay,
And it was complete.

Strange how a song
sounds like a memory.

Like a recording of a summer's day
on that beach

The day the music died.

The Day the music died.




City: Naples, FL

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