Pancreatitis Took Him. He Was 71.

On a crystal morning when I heard the dewdrops falling
Down from a gleaming heaven, it was your voice I heard calling
And when I come home again from a world that’s not for me,
It’s been your songs that set me free.

The subject.
Image from Robby Steinhardt’s website, used for commentary.

Hey there, violinist, I don’t ask why you had to go;
I got to hear your stories, wish I could’ve seen your show,
Open-eyed and laughing, but now you’ve gone away.
I know none of us can stay.

Here I am, still following your sign,
Listening closely, hearing things align.
I am still here, and you’re not there,
But your song’s still ringing through the air.

I could ask, o, singer, what it’s like to be so old,
See the summers passing and the winters growing cold
While your body’s failing you, though your soul feels new,
But that, I can never do.

Here I am, still following your sign,
Listening closely, hearing things align.
I am still here, and you’re not there,
But your song’s still ringing through the air.

It’s no simple thing, seeing through the eyes
Of belov’d artists and to their works reprise;
They e’er remain, they’re always standing there,
And their works, still miracles found everywhere.

You sang your songs to many, and many long years ago,
And I, eager, listen, though I know you’ll never know
Now, beyond the sunset, as our lives must ever trend;
Sometime, every song must end.

Here I am; I listen for a sign,
Hear the song again, know things will be fine,
Though I’m still here, and you’re not there.
Your song’s still ringing through the air.

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