A friend of mine I never knew died only yesterday
He spoke the truth within his heart a genius some may say.
A kindred spirit met his maker just the other day.
I missed him long before he ever actually went away.
Sometime I still see the trees that look like crucified thieves
The sun so often finds the way to beat so angry
Down on me.
And all too often I find myself just like a desperado under the eaves.
The wolves are where? I bet he’d say
There off with Roland and Mohammad.
Up there around London way.
But still I feel I’m better off and wiser for the fact.
My unknown friend was so well versed
So well equipped to write the songs
My heart does now exact.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem