Bosco was a loner
Walking many miles each day
Bosco was a stoner
Guitar music he would play
Bosco was a lover
Not a fighter at heart
Bosco never ran for cover
When the thunder storms would start
Bosco was killed along the roadside
His life came to an end
Bosco's last time hitchin a ride
He was everybody's friend.
(Remembering Mark Bastianelli)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem