© 2015 Barbara Grace Lake

Down the boulevard they come

Top hats, canes and horns

Shiny faces, celebrants of life

Blowing mellow notes

Dancing barefoot cotton tops

Raising dust along a haunted avenue

Out past sunken fields of rice

Playing on for granite markers

Of a thousand lives

Thelonius Monk and Cannonball

Duke Ellington, all gone

Gone, but here in every soul

That feels a beat

And every snapping finger

Listening to the sad sweet sounds

Of N’Orleans Jazz.