An Audience Of One: Midnight 11_24_1963 Poem by John F. McCullagh

After all the crowds had gone, we came to the Rotunda where
Our murdered President lay in state, resting in his coffin there.
We shuffled in with our winds and woods to play a requiem for him.
Leonard Bernstein, with his grey tousled mane, motioned that we should begin.
Our fingers danced upon the strings as wood winds sounded sad and low.
In Life he loved to hear us play and we had loved him too you know.
Notes flowed in the November air, up to heaven for all we know,
Music taking the place of prayer; for many of us its long been so..
We've played before Thousands in New York and in concert halls around the world,
But this night we played just for him,

for Massachusetts favorite son.

We played Mahler's requiem

for an audience of one.