Author John Moncure Wetterau Scratching your beard, excited,"Fantastic," you said aboutthe Beatles' new record.The next night you playedyour own shy songs, surprising us.You were crushed beneath your car,but your songs, Paul, I heard them.We all heard them. Woodstock Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments