As many, most, all of you know by now, Donna Summer - the Queen of Disco - died yesterday. I felt oddly sad about this news. I didn't like her music. I abhorred disco when she was it's pin-up girl. I liked it when some baseball owner decided that burning disco albums (or maybe blowing them up) was the right thing to do. I agreed. As did my friends.

    A strange thing happened. After I read about her death, I began writing. And continued. And wrote more. It became something of an eulogy to Ms. Summer. 

    What else should I do but share it.


Hey, loved to love ya’ baby.
Anyone who dies at 63 young 
years
has died too soon.
With probably much left to do.

So I Feel Love, for Donna.
Whose summer of love and disco (sucks),
swelled during my early teen ages,
My close friend’s favourite t-shirt,
ratty black, bold and disdainful,
blazed DISCO SUCKS and it did then.

She Worked Hard for Her Money
but not ours. Sorry we didn’t contribute. 
Donna, if only your last name was
Ramone, though your name did 
rhyme with M-M-M-My
Sharona, well not really but close.


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