Cowboy poet, Larry Bradfield wrote the poem below after I told him about a good friend and I dancing on the balcony of her
Denver penthouse apartment the night Armstrong walked on the moon in 1969. There were others there. She had two roommates
with dancing partners that night. The moon was full, the music was so appropriate and the setting was absolutely unforgettable,
a high rise in downtown Denver. We were on the ninth floor with city lights aglitter and the big ivory moon shining brighter
than ever, but that night it had footprints for the first time. The lunar bathed snow-capped Rockies were in full magical
view. Clair de Lune is my favorite tune of all and has been since my early college days. Larry Bradfield was part of the Apollo
program. He saw it close up from Mission Control Rooms. He pictured my memory in his mind and wrote this poem. I tinkered
with it to get it where it is now. Thought you would like it. Michael Lewis Moore
DENVER COLORADO--AT 727 PEARL STREET-- JUNE 20th 1969-- ARMSTRONG'S MOON WALK
He was raised near a west Texas sand dune.
The honky tonks and sawdust fit him well.
Although partial to a Debussy tune,
He was just as apt to cuss and raise hell.
Then one day he went to Denver for good
Changed sand in his boots for views without end.
He learned quickly, as he'd known that he would,
Pretty girls lived in Penthouses, my friend.
Joanie was smart and he knew that was right,
Her southern whispers met his Texas drawl.
They danced as an Apollo moon shone bright,
And marveled how young they had seen it all.
What more was there than to dance Clair de Lune?
All While men walked upon that big ol' moon.
Written 07/20/2017 by Larry Bradfield for dancers Joan Parker MacReynolds ( Knoxville Tn.) and Michael Lewis Moore (Odessa,
Take Me To Texas
When I die take me to Texas
And lay me gently in the sand
Just dust me off from time to time
And softly pat me with your hand
Talk to me lowly with that voice
That I heard for so many years
And tell me what's been goin' on
Since I caused you to shed those tears
Then take a cup of Texas sand
From atop the grave's hallowed spot
And take it to the county line
Where that old Honky Tonk was hot
Now if that Honky Tonk is gone
Just dump that sand out as she pours
But if that place still stands today
Carry it through the batwing doors
Then set it on the bar, my love,
And tell 'em just who lies beneath
That ought to get you one free beer
But you cannot expect a wreath
For those were wild and wooly days
And we were young and out of hand
Now I'm gone and I'll lie buried
In the farthest west Texas sand
7/21/2017 copyrighted by Larry Bradfield