He's paid his dues for far too long,
singing other people's songs.
For so long that he's forgotten
the voice that was his own.
Now in crowded bars
and seedy cafes
he plays the tunes
He knows will pay.
His big break wasn't yesterday
nor will it come tomorrow.
There he drinks alone, in silence,
of the waters of regret.
His old six stringed companion
is the one true friend still left.
He Had a gift they used to say,
and so he traveled to L.A.
Here he's still singing 'Yesterday'
with a genuine dash of sorrow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem