Songs Without Words Poem by John F. McCullagh

When they brought him to the Hospital

He was listed as John Doe.

He would have liked the irony-

as Harry Chapin was well known.



His hair was like a lion’s mane

His face both kind and strong

Though doctor’s tried and nurses cried

Harry had sung his last song.



Like Wednesdays’ child with far to go,

He’d been on the road that day.

He was scheduled for a concert

For which he’d take no pay.



He sang songs for the suppers

of the poor and the deprived.

He may not have been “Religious”

-but he lived life sanctified-



His car was observed slowing down

And weaving between lanes

He might even have been dying then

of Coronary pains.



The trucker behind him could not stop

He rode the brakes in vain.

The truck smashed into Harry’s car

which promptly burst in flames.



The Trucker and a Motorist

dragged Harry from the flames.

I’d dearly love to thank them both

But I don’t know their names.



They Med-evacuated him

A helicopter came.

They brought Him to Nassau County Med-

reporting “John Doe” as his name.



On that torrid summer day,

Without a breath of air,

There would not be an encore

That much, at least, was clear.



Harry’s eyes were glazing over,

It was certain he had passed.

I hope he had a peaceful end

when his Corey came at last.





(A tribute to Harry Foster Chapin: , Singer, Songwriter and Philanthropist. 12/07/42-07/16/81)