He could sing,
Songs did bring,
Stirring to my soul.

Played the two eight
track tapes, until late,
with headphones,
surrounded but alone.

He could lay out lyrics,
a bard, a poet, a musician
that rasied peoples spirits.
                                              Like "The Eagle and The Hawk"

That voice still echoes.

Played many instruments,
like they were extensions
of himself, fine implements.

Never I thought,
Would I see him,
                           sing
In a big concert hall.
               Or hoping, finding out that, "Country Roads Take Me Home"

I was right.

But was I ever part wrong.

That voice still echoes.

Summer in Prince George,
He was coming to town.
A concert series across the land,
not in an arena but
                    an outdoor bandstand!

There sat my hero, less than fifty feet away,
His fragile humanity, let the "Sunshine on My Shoulders",
Through times of my youth.

I don't remember the songs in order,
he did some favorites and some new,
he played his twelve string and the six,
that night was amazing so much so is sticks.

The resonating vibrato,
The notes pitch perfect,
The...times when I am down,
Then I listen to his music and it reminds me of my home, my youth, far away.

That night looking east, I could almost see the "Rocky Mountain(s) High"  

His life changed direction,
maybe some misdirection,
He was different,
Or maybe I became indifferent,
His passing was tragic,
But nothing...
will ever erase the magic of that night,

under the stars,

out in the open

to where the singer and songs carried far,

by that voice, his voice that still echoes.