A fleeting glimpse of who I was,
a second sight of youth regained
was paradise to blinded eyes;
a gift of passing time detained.
A shaggy bear with angel's voice
was how a critic once described
my work. Through age and not by choice,
the golden tone grew tarnished, bled
of grace and wings. Last night...last night;
the angel burst through graveled throat,
dipped, soared in unfettered flight
through every song and spot-on note.
Expressive, strong, no cracks or strain;
what joy it was to sing again.