We lost a man whose pictures haunt our dreams
And a great lady, cool and smooth as jazz
Itself. Oh how much duller this day seems
With both Frazetta gone, and Lena Horne.
Their gifts to us outlast them, and will do
So long hence. How I cherish my few worn
And tattered paperbacks the master drew
The covers for; and Lena's voice still smooths
My roughened edges as I write this. We
Were truly graced who loved them both; this soothes
Me e'en as I regret I did not see
Ms. Horne in concert, ever. Never let
Such chances pass you by; do not forget!
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