When I saw him singing I Walk The Line on stage in that northern prairie town
I was just a boy, my eyes in fascination
were locked to that deep scar
imagining the fight he suffered it in
broken whiskey bottle cutting him
as he connected with a roundhouse right
and the other man went down
Or maybe it was a woman who cut him
after he'd let her down
and now he had to carry that scar
everywhere he went
answering the questions until
the questions bored him and
in every town he played
he made up a different answer
His voice had none of that singsong
lilt of the others, it being a lantern
too heavy to swing around
so he let its iron weight talk
made sure the fierce light at its center
never went dark
Toward the end he sang I Still Miss Someone my uncle choked up and buckled when John sang
"when all the love was there"
and I knew then there are other kinds
of scars you can't see
In his later years there was
rust on that iron lantern
that brought to it a tenderness
we knew was there by the songs he chose
but now it was present in the voice
and it made you stand up and listen
tell friends about him
say he's sounding stronger than ever
When June left him we knew
the wick of that lantern's flame
had been snipped shorter still
for love keeps us living
and June and John's love
kept them living
and without her eyes and face
and caretaking grace we knew
the loneliness would harden
Tonight it is darker than before the lantern heavier still
its rust flaking in the wind
as we raise it from where it fell
Tonight that lantern is ours to light
to lift, however heavy
protect its flame from sudden winds
Our love keeps them living
yes, keeps the music with us, alive
our gift back, in the deepening night
-Doug Lang September 12, 2003