Aretha Franklin moves on. (If this too soon, as I suspect, Ma’am, I mean no disrespect.)

Detroit, Downbeat.

Up glides that big long black Cadillac,
Ms Franklin reposing silent in the back,
Gently, reverently the Caddy begins to roll,
One last slow ride for the Queen of Soul.

Let’s pray that that voice that soared
Isn’t now the sole preserve of the Lord;
Saint Pete’s impatiently awaiting her arrival,
He’ll be leading the chorus at her revival.

Now it’s only those blessed, high up above
Can join in with her on the freeway of love,
…Alas, we once had tickets but could not go,
Now, I know, we’ve got no earthly show.

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