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Jan 2018
When days of future pass
and cannot come again-
Half a century seems a moment.
A loved musician meets his end.

The haunting notes you played on the flute;
those somber moody blues-
will echo through eternity
though you, yourself be through.

A treasured disk of Vinyl;
A loved, remembered song.
I played it first when just a teen
living in my parents’ home.

A Sculptor’s work melts in the rain
It’s lines made indistinct
An author, once thought popular,
may  soon be out of ink.

A film made in the golden age
is faded acetate.
The beauty of white satin nights
I hope escapes their fate.
( Ray Thomas, a founding member of the Moody Blues, has died. Their album " Days of Future Passed" was one of my first acquisitions.) 1967
John F McCullagh
Written by
John F McCullagh  63/M/NY
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