you emerged in a dream that was the sixties.
with your magical harp, impish smile,
stark words that burned into the canvas of my innocence,
your songs beckoned me
awaken from my drowsy sleep, feel the dance.
who are you, you ragamuffin poet?
the pictures you paint are naked and raw.
you, the angry young man whose ancient soul revealed
a truth teller charming with visions and signs.
i can't look, but i dare not look away.
remember the hunger of those days? i do.
those of us compelled to follow will never forget.
your words are etched into my life
like initials on wood, a remembrance tatooed on my soul,
still yearning for fairness, justice and a little dignity;
still believing--
in spite of life,
in spite of death,
in spite of violence and hardened hearts.
sing me a song to savor along the way, pilgrim brother,
we may be older, but i still feel the dance.
to my heart you are....forever young.
Thanks, Bob. Keep on keepin' on.