in the early morning rain

the troubadour was young

once,

strong

on the stage, guitar.

his beard, his blonde hair.

his voice a sweet roar

of masculinity, singing about

love lost,

love won in the early morning

rain.

she's beautiful,

if you could read my

mind.

and now.

i see him, a shell of self.

aged near 80, still singing.

but he's gone. gone too soon,

like we all are.

still

wanting,

still seeking love. still on

stage,

guitar in hand.

searching for the words

to make life right.