"And
the Music Died that Morning."
Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
February 3rd, 2005 4:43 p.m. pst
The concert in Clear Lake that night was grand,
Everybody cheered, and enjoyed the music
All the guitars twanged with eloquence,
and everyone's voice soared high
Nobody danced much during Buddy's set
Even though the concert was a Dance Party
They just wanted to hear him sing
The tour itself had been gritty, and behind schedule
Tommy and Waylon were replacing the Crickets
Who stayed home this trip
Joe, Jerry, and Sonny
Mulling over their decision.
Tommy, Waylon, and Buddy
had rented a plane to get to Fargo early
So they could wash their dirty clothes
Ahead of the next night's performance.
After the concert
Most of the guys were gonna be on the tour bus
Noisy and unheated in the winter cold,
But the Bopper and Richie had traded seats
With Waylon and Tommy before the concert.
Waylon didn't care,
The tour was a new and exciting experience for him
And he didn't mind the idea of taking the bus.
Somebody noticed that Buddy
Hadn't sang his new hit,
"It Really Doesn't Matter Anymore".
He'd called Maria that night
But didn't tell her he was flying.
The drive to the Mason City Airport was unevenful.
A young kid of only 21 who was scheduled
To take the next day off agreed to
Fly the plane to Fargo.
Buddy, Richie and the Bopper strapped themselves in
Roger, the pilot hadn't been certified for
Flying by instruments alone.
The plane disappeared into the night
And the winter cold was unforgiving
Nobody knows exactly what happened next
Over the horizon and into the blackness of night
The plane disappeared.
And the
music died that morning.
Poetry
2005
