by Pa Rock
Old Gray Typist
A friend commented to me yesterday that March seems to be a month of birthdays, to which I suggested that perhaps it has something to do with being nine months out from the marrying month of June. But that was just supposition.
Regardless of the reason or lack thereof, America's bed springs obviously took a beating during the month of June in 1947, because a whole slew of people made their diapered debuts in March of 1948. Two of my classmates were born that month, as was I, making us all at or very near seventy. British composer Andrew Lloyd Webber was born on March 22, 1948, American singer and songwriter Steven Tyler of Aerosmith arrived on March 26th, and environmentalist and politician Al Gore was born on the last day of the month. And, as if the month of March in the year of 1948 needed any more polish, American music legend James Taylor was born seventy years ago today.
To celebrate all of those birthdays, and to pay particular homage to Carly Simon's ex, today's poetry selection is the beautiful and serene "Sweet Baby James" by James Taylor. Happy birthday, old man, and thank you for a lifetime of beautiful music.
Sweet Baby James
by James Taylor
There is a young cowboy he lives on the range
His horse and his cattle are his only companions
He works in the saddle and he sleeps in the canyons
Waiting for Summer, his pastures to change
And as the moon rises he sits by his fire
Thinking about women and glasses of beer
And closing his eyes as the doggies retire
He sings out a song which is soft but it's clear
As if maybe someone could hear
Goodnight you moonlight ladies
Rock-a-bye sweet baby James
Deep greens and blues are the colors I choose
Won't you let me go down in my dreams
And rock-a-bye sweet baby James
Now the first of December was covered with snow
And so was the turnpike from Stockbridge to Boston
Lord, the Berkshires seemed dreamlike on account of that frosting
With ten miles behind me and ten thousand more to go
There's a song that they sing when they take to the highway
A song that they sing when they take to the sea
A song that they sing of their home in the sky
Maybe you can believe it if it helps you to sleep
But singing works just fine for me
Goodnight you moonlight ladies
Rock-a-bye sweet baby James
Deep greens and blues are the colors I choose
Won't you let me go down in my dreams
And rock-a-bye sweet baby James
Old Gray Typist
A friend commented to me yesterday that March seems to be a month of birthdays, to which I suggested that perhaps it has something to do with being nine months out from the marrying month of June. But that was just supposition.
Regardless of the reason or lack thereof, America's bed springs obviously took a beating during the month of June in 1947, because a whole slew of people made their diapered debuts in March of 1948. Two of my classmates were born that month, as was I, making us all at or very near seventy. British composer Andrew Lloyd Webber was born on March 22, 1948, American singer and songwriter Steven Tyler of Aerosmith arrived on March 26th, and environmentalist and politician Al Gore was born on the last day of the month. And, as if the month of March in the year of 1948 needed any more polish, American music legend James Taylor was born seventy years ago today.
To celebrate all of those birthdays, and to pay particular homage to Carly Simon's ex, today's poetry selection is the beautiful and serene "Sweet Baby James" by James Taylor. Happy birthday, old man, and thank you for a lifetime of beautiful music.
Sweet Baby James
by James Taylor
There is a young cowboy he lives on the range
His horse and his cattle are his only companions
He works in the saddle and he sleeps in the canyons
Waiting for Summer, his pastures to change
And as the moon rises he sits by his fire
Thinking about women and glasses of beer
And closing his eyes as the doggies retire
He sings out a song which is soft but it's clear
As if maybe someone could hear
Goodnight you moonlight ladies
Rock-a-bye sweet baby James
Deep greens and blues are the colors I choose
Won't you let me go down in my dreams
And rock-a-bye sweet baby James
Now the first of December was covered with snow
And so was the turnpike from Stockbridge to Boston
Lord, the Berkshires seemed dreamlike on account of that frosting
With ten miles behind me and ten thousand more to go
There's a song that they sing when they take to the highway
A song that they sing when they take to the sea
A song that they sing of their home in the sky
Maybe you can believe it if it helps you to sleep
But singing works just fine for me
Goodnight you moonlight ladies
Rock-a-bye sweet baby James
Deep greens and blues are the colors I choose
Won't you let me go down in my dreams
And rock-a-bye sweet baby James
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