The Blues Are Older Than Memphis

From mem’ries of Eurydice
The living Orpheus retreats
In agony condemns
His gifts and disdains life
A lyre that fills with song inspired,
By grief beguiled
The breathless trees lean in and fill
With silent, watchful birds
Bearing voiceless witness, sigh
This love denied
By death and second chances lost
Entangles all
Who hearing,
Are enthralled
In most exquisite and
Connective pain
(‘cuz everybody loves the blues)