Fallen Brother dear
There’s a whimpering amongst the saplings, the more mature trees give heartfelt cry.
The forest man, so fine and steady, who brought them all to life, has now laid down to die.
There’s a mournful brooding ‘Les Paul’ in the corner condemned to play the blues no more.
No magic riffs of bony fingered, smoked filled, wine soaked, hours of and revelry, are left within the store.
There’s a brood of weeping brothers scattered far and wide, who know for sure, the finest of them has been taken from their side.
There’s silent pen now, of thousand rhymes of poetic prose, the source of which god only knows.
There’s a broken-hearted Woman too, who stayed beside him as his wife, the one and only true love of his rich and splendid, heart-full life.
If a life well lived leads to a fine legacy, as for some it surely must.
The fine and steady forest man will still be well remembered, when all else has turned to dust.
May you have fine food and wine, and song, and love, and books, and fags a plenty too.
Until again, I get to feast my sad and lonesome eyes on you.
There’s a whimpering amongst the saplings, the more mature trees give mournful cry.
The forest man, so fine and steady, who brought them all to life, has now laid down to die.
Love ya Ror
Com
You knew him well, loved him deeply and your heart swelled up and nearly wilted remembering his lilted song. Others never knew him, only heard of him remote and never heard his song, not even a note. So we are grateful to his favourite poet who penned this verse and encouraged us not to abstain, but to join him in the chorus of this Rory’s last refrain.
Thank you so much Tony, so kind!
Cormac