Lo, in the great city of New York was held the three-and-fortieth gathering in remembrance of John Lennon, the dreamer and singer of peace. And the hall was heavy with memory, as though the very air carried whispers of ages past.
At the last hour of the tribute, three elders of song did draw nigh: Graham Nash, Judy Collins, and Art Garfunkel—keepers of voices once mingled with Lennon’s own time.
They stood not apart, but round a single staff of sound, a lone microphone, symbol of one accord. No host of instruments followed them, save only the humble piano. And their voices, seasoned as the oak, rose as witnesses to history.
First lifted Judy of the silver throat, who sang, “Imagine there’s no heaven,” as though uttering a prayer unto the wind. Then spake Graham of Nash, whose voice, weathered by the long road, carried the weight of years, proclaiming “Imagine no possessions” not as dream, but as plea.
And when the refrain did come, behold, Art of Garfunkel wove his airy tone upon Nash’s earth and Collins’ sky, so that three strands became one cord unbroken. Their song was as a fragile flame, yet burning with holy fire.
This was no mere performance, but a liturgy of hope. As they stood shoulder-to-shoulder, intoning, “and the world will be as one,” it seemed the dreamer’s spirit walked among them. Thus was the anthem reborn—not as common tune, but as sacred heirloom, carried forth by voices that time itself could not silence.
