The slipper footed artist
Steps quiet, across the stage floor
He tells of the pre-raphaelites
He is Jazz
He tells us of so much more
I believe he spoke of Rubens
And baroque, entering the door
He told of the early times
He is Jazz
He is the keeper of the score
I know he spoke of post one thing
Or was it from another shore
He mostly spoke of ample women
He is Jazz
He is the picker in the store
I hope he remembers
Of how they loved him to the core
He was irascible
He is Jazz
He is the laughter from which to pour
