Thoughts on Bob Dylan
There's cracks and blemishes of times wisdom on his cheeks
His mouth spoke words so many others wished to speak
His palms had curled to grasp a wand of toils foretold
Through notes of velvet highs and guillotine lows
And just what they were to do no fortune gypsy could guess
When he was just a child fuelled with wanderlust and curiousness
And when the blue of his tombstone should melt into the grass
As the stone wilts and crumbles like sleeping on broken glass
The tales of disgrace, love and stoned recollection
Of change sympathy and words of question
Shall forever ring true into the learned and unknown ear
To remind us muddy water flowed once where streams run clear
Though he is human I don't wish to imitate imperfect works
But in every dark or luscious minute lurk his sobering words.
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