You gotta love it

A tip of the hat,
John B. Stetson, size 7
To Lyle Lovett

Lyle Pearce Lovett
Came out writing songs, this date
In ’57

Wonder how he looked
As a baby? He’s truly
One of a kind now

That sweet, goofy grin
First ‘do like ball of black yarn
The cat had played with

Handsomely homely
Married Julia Roberts
How did she catch him?

That one didn’t last
But his talent surely has
Consistent brilliance

Killer band, backups,
Or just Lyle, his guitar
You’ll be entertained

Transcending showbiz
By mastering all its tricks
To showcase his art

Fine storytelling
Meaning — or at least fate — pulled
From slightest details

Insightful writing
Claiming life’s joys and sorrows
By lampooning them

So what’s it all mean?
Not sure he would say he knows,
But you have to try

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