The year was 1963, when I marched
Into Woolworth's to buy "Fingertips,"
By Little Stevie Wonder, musical genius,
A harmonica tune from a blind boy's lips.
.
My papa disapproved it, my mama boohooed it,
But I kept filling the house with your songs.
In a cafe, or sometimes, on a crowded street,
Your soulful notes filtered through the throngs.
.
Stevie, you showed us how hands can understand,
Your Innervisions saw a milk and honey land.
Now a national holiday for Martin Luther King,
Yet you modestly say you did nothing.
.
I cheer and applaud your many awards.
Still weep at your words when you perform.
I like to close my eyes and turn it up loud,
That I may share your little, distant cloud.
