'Round Midnight
   by Marc Pound

Jimmy Heath is on the alto,
the air filled with smoke and vibrato.
A man is crying in the bathroom as
Autumn Leaves are falling.

Horace Silver is playing for his father.
A woman, fueled on coke and bravado,
sways at her table alone.
April in Paris in New York.

It could go on this way all night.
Man crying, woman swaying,
leaves falling, notes flying.
But no one listens to bebop anymore.