Friday, August 28, 2020

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.

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