Eric sang about flowers,

as they bloomed in the fields.

On couches without backs we sit,

staring,

and listened to his word.

Eric talked about the birds

and he loved their majesty,

as they delayed, even as they

dallied,

up in the cool, white breeze.

Where has all the mirth gone,

left wearing blue suede jacket.

On chairs without backs I sit,

silence,

waiting for the songs to play.