by Leonard Cohen

So, while looking at Stephen Colbert books on Amazon, I spotted amongst the list, “Baby Booties and Socks: 50 Knits for Tiny Toes” by Frederique Alexandre. I’m not sure what that means, but it definitely gave me pause, BTW: $7.04, used and new, 47 offers.

When they bury Leonard Cohen
Will it be a day like this
Crisp, and littered with leaves
Locked in autumn’s kiss?

Will mourners gather solemnly
And whisper ‘mongst themselves
Say “Leonard was so spiritual
He’d never go to hell
Leonard was so talented
He never thought it so
Bemused by such clamor
He sought to let it go
The Jew became a Buddhist
True, a monk it’s hard to say
Which part of life he loved the best
Until his dying day.”

“And Leonard was so popular
The best did sing his songs
The ones he wrote for groceries
His pragmatism won
He never liked pretension
This life is what it is
He’d try to live it better
And never put on airs.”

Too many people sang that song
They simply couldn’t see
That in their many versions
They bored the listeners keen
The gem rolled out of storage
And shone in every way
Now when it plays, like Leonard
We sigh and turn away.