(Thelonious that is...)
Butterflies stop by,
(the man with the funny hats is playing)
dancing, they sashay, shimmy, and soft-shoe-shuffle.
He dances a little himself: puppet jerking to the tenor's syncopation;
then back to dissecting the blues, searching, trawling the deeper dissonant strain -
plotting the saddest sadness.
Today, he is gone, the man with the funny hats;
...the butterflies dance on
this is your story
this is your song