This poem’s about Garrison Keillor
Whose Prairie Home show seemed quite real, or
Realer than real
With a timeless appeal
That foretells bigger things for said Keillor.
***
A radio host, name of Keillor,
He couldn’t have kept things much realer.
Though his show’s run its course
He can still be a force
As a homespun midwest wheeler-dealer.
***
He wasn’t from Maine or Dakota.
His essence was pure Minnesota.
And now that he’s done,
Lake Wobegon’s gone,
Guess the comfort we took reached its quota.
***
When Keillor first took to the air,
A crowd of just 12 took their chairs.
Now 3 million strong,
We’re saying so-long
Truly Wobegon down to our hair.
***
As Garrison says his goodbye
You may find a tear in your eye.
It’s been 42 years
Of above average cheer
And the Ketchup Board’s left high and dry.
***
The loss of Lake Wobegon stings.
The radio no longer sings
In an odd baritone
With a sound all its own.
But Keillor? He’ll do bigger things!
***
And, With Apologies
When Garrison Keillor first started
His radio gig was uncharted.
But he stuck to his guns.
And the show had some run.
After 42 years, to a bright new career and a whole new frontier (we should buy him a beer!)…
He’s departed.
***
Minneapolis first brings to mind
A fair Prince, a man clearly divine,
But the state as a whole
Boasts another old soul.
Maybe Keillor’s the man to enshrine.
***
Let the toasting and praises begin
Now that Keillor has gone with the wind.
After so many years,
Big changes bring tears,
But he’ll surely arise yet again.
***
A radio face, it is true,
But Keillor, despite that, came through.
An unlikely host,
Yet he kept us engrossed.
His next act should be something, too!
***
No real Prairie Home could compare
With what Garrison put on the air.
Eating Powdermilk Biscuits
Or Ketchup with Triscuits,
Somehow he’ll return to the fair.
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