He sang there, at Brooklyn Academy of Music

He sang there, says the upstate newspaper,

“But there’s no record,” says BAM.

The dead ends are not curling their toes

But watch the lips.

“So, there was a flood,

So much was lost,

And maybe it was a Recital rental,

which we don’t preserve.”

He lived, loved, sang, eventually croaked.

Where are the papers to attest to a major event,

For the ones who weren’t here yet?

(who won’t let go.)