I am a high school graduate in my mid fifties and am a lifelong blue collar worker. Ditch digger, merchant mariner (sailor), truck driver, boat builder, and for a long time now, machinist; the dreams of few, the lot of many, I hope to do something more before my days are done. About three years ago, I started a novel (I am in chapter seven). One of my characters, if I can manage it, will speak only in verse. To do this I must acquire skill with verse, "An Ode to Connie Francis" is my latest attempt, and one of three I have not discarded. If that ladies wonderful singing doesn't get acceptable poetry out of me, nothing will. The poem is an attempt to combine a tribute to Connie Francis with putting into words a feeling most people probably get at least once or twice in their lives, the near materialization of a strand of gentleness, loveliness, tenderness (you name it), that must originate supernaturally. When I hear her beautiful music I cannot help being brought back to the subject.

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