Goodbye

Take me to that southern city

tell  me this is where he died

the landscape’s gentle like the pity

that his soul was not denied

Some struggles take up too much time

days and weeks and months and years

all without reasom without rhyme

but I know he shed no tears

        You old codger

         you old fart

         sickbed lodger

         boundless heart

         I have come to say goodbye

         or at least I’ll try

         goodbye, and then, goodbye

There must be a mountain village

where we smoke and drink and dance

where we dive into life’s scrimmage

and we always meet perchance

I am not ill there, you’re not dead

jokes are told and then retold

each day is like the day we’ve met

and we simply don’t grow old

       refr.

21/02/2012. In fond memory of Norman Hackett