You sang summertime
so sweet, darling Bille
Your voice, rich
like syrup, delicate lily and
they call you Lady Day
But to me your just…Billie
Angel,
your tired eyes, wise
magnificent
skin, lips
like a rose
in the state you’re in, no
I can’t approach you
I can’t touch you
for you are holy
But sing to me
won’t you, of that
I might be worthy
Songs of
experience,
songs of pain,
the New Orleans croon,
beneath the summer rain
Through it all,
though fear strikes all,
in the darkest hours you are proof of heaven
like a wink, it flashes in the shadows of your song.
Ren Michael 