February 3rd's ghostly tune.

A Poem by Relic

On February 3rd, of this year

the idea of sleep will horrify me.

I'll be visualizing a terrifying sight

I know will haunt me as it has

for years.

There'll be a whistling breeze.

Then, with its eerie melody,

a voice will come fleeting by.

His southern drawl will be

unmistakable:

"You say you're gonna leave,

you know it's a lie 'cause

that'll be the day that I die."

The recurring words echo each year

orchestrated as notes playing

to a troubled, sputtering engine

descending above the cornfield.

Sweat will form on my face.

A trickle will run down my cheek.

My bed will feel like a tomb.

Panic will set in

there'll be a quick series

of sickening thuds

then, like it always does

the music will die--

in the cold, silent, snow.

© 2026 Relic

Author's Note

On February 3, 1959, rock and roll musicians Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and J. P. "The Big Bopper" Richardson were killed in a plane crash near Clear Lake, Iowa, together with the pilot, Roger Peterson. The event later became known as "The Day the Music Died", after singer-songwriter Don McLean so referred to it in his song "American Pie".

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Day_the_Music_Died