Elegy

John Prine, who for five decades wrote rich, plain-spoken songs that chronicled the struggles and stories of everyday working people and changed the face of modern American roots music, died Tuesday…[of] complications related to COVID-19.
-  Rolling Stone Magazine, April 7, 2020, 9:12PM EDT

Where I grew up, there's not one

kinda family. My neighbors, some of 'em,

had BMWs or Mercedes. My folks

were more like the Chevrolet set.

When I shipped off to school I missed

my first Love so much every day, I would sing

him songs on the phone. You told me

back then that this love could last.

And when we split, you said, it’s OK

to be sad. I listened over and over

to your live album where you said,

“This is a song I wrote for my wife…

Fiona, this is for you! She Is My Everything.”

So I believed in love again. In the darkest

nights you were the silver light,

and tonight as the news breaks

hearts across the country I remember

what it means to be an American. Then

I’m takin' a walk and the moon is full at last,

bright enough to walk by, y'know?

It’s gettin' hot here but everyone

has started wearing masks outside

to fight against the virus. You fought

your last war right close to home—

not Vietnam, but Nashville,

and some would say you lost

but I think whoever's at the pearly

gates will smile at you, and every time

I’m standin' by peaceful waters

I’ll feel you livin' in the electric

world I grew up in, the one

you spoke into being, and in spite

of ourselves, my family's gonna sing

along to your songs just as long as we live,

and I’ll drive my ol' Honda Fit 'til it's beat

up and rattles and I’ll count my mixed

blessings from the driver’s seat.