At the Jazz Bar

The neon glows above the bar,

The players crowd the stage.

The music needs not travel far,

To splash upon this page.

Its melody is poetry,

Its rhythms form pure prose.

The quill it dances merrily,

From opening ’til close.

The arrangements form a thesis,

An essay from its notes.

The audience falls to pieces,

While hearing what they wrote.

And yet still the songs keep coming,

The words spill on and on.

And the quill will keep on humming,

Long after they have gone.