Anna Sokolow, bless her golden soul,
At her dance debut, provided purest leaven,
Raising my lowly loaf to heights of heaven,
Overfilling my already brimming bowl -
November fourteenth, in Nineteen Thirty-seven.

Copland, you were seated on my right -
Old Patriach, as I'd dreamed of you, beardand all.
Patriach? Beard? No, quite another sight.
Lean, young, charming, Lincolnesquely tall.
At your birthday party, later, we Amen'd
Now, decades later, you remain my Friend,
Daedalus Master, Guide, til time shall end.

Let us thank God for our meeting, for He was so kind as plan it.
But also thank Anna Sokolow, who actually began it.
 

                                                  - leonard Bernstein
                                                     November 8, 1980