Plots

I  will one day rest close by Jim Croce,

Perhaps ten yards away.

Not a robust claim to fame, you see,

Based solely upon where you lay.

But on some eternal scale of life,

I wind up better off than he.

While country music is like an uncle,

I  prefer Simon and Garfunkel.

And Denver, Baez, Peter, Paul and Mary,

(Though Dillon’s rasp is somewhat scary.)

 Seeger and Nelson, give me fevers,

With New Christie Minstrals and the Weavers.

 Croce mostly lets me down,

Except for Big, Bad Leroy Brown.

They all wept for young Jim Croce

His plane went down before his time.

Perhaps I would have learned to love him

Had he survived to reach his prime.

Is he now with Puff the Dragon,

Enjoying his own Mountain High?

The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind

Above Louisiana sky.

Will he be there to sing me sweetly

When I have reached my time to lie?

Will he be there to comfort me

Beneath a  Pennsylvania sky?