Francis Duggan


Django Reinhardt - Poem by Francis Duggan

Django Reinhardt was born in Belgium as the record of his life show
At Liberchies of gipsy parents over ninety years ago
And he died in France at Fontainebleau in nineteen fifty three in May
From the most humble of beginnings he had gone a long long way.

He lost a few fingers of his right hand when he was a twelve year old
In a fire in his caravan so the story has been told
But this did not deter Django he still played violin and guitar
He was destined to be famous and his music would be known far.

In the World of jazz he's famous he is in the hall of fame
And he will live on in his music his is an immortal name
Those who love jazz revere Django and his name will never die
He will only grow more famous as the years keep rolling by.

Goes to show if you have talent obstacles won't keep you down
Circumstance of birth or social status are not barriers to renown
Born poor and poor you'll remain that's often been proved a lie
Look at dark haired Django Reinhardt he was once a gipsy boy

Django Reinhardt died a young man but his music still remain
And how some have in them natural genius is beyond me to explain
In his lifetime he was famous and in death the legend grow
Of the boy born to gipsy parents over ninety years ago

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Poem Submitted: Saturday, January 5, 2008



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