You and I were in the same class through our years at school.
You were not in fashion; I was totally uncool.
Honors English wasn’t for you, nor first-chair trombone.
Though the town was small our paths scarce crossed — then we were gone:
I, in search of greatness, found more mediocrity;
You, for love of music, made yourself a prodigy.
Now you sell out concert halls, performing for the crowd,
Sing in many languages of stories bold and proud;
With the voice the critics praise, you stand there front and center.
You have fetched me hundred-dollar seats that I might enter
In your world of myth and magic. What’s the more amazing
Is you came from nowhere, not the least hint were you raising
Of your future path. Perhaps you saw the lousy treatment
I got when I let my light shine with my modest talent.
Those times I was beat up, all that screwing with my head,
Must have warned you: show your stuff and you might well be dead.
Better that you hid your strengths and waited for your time,
Yet it’s sad we never shared some rhythm and some rhyme.