Whispering like a dormant field mouse,
but roaring like a fucking lion.
You loved from your soul and nothing less,
And happily fucked up and cleaned up the mess.
To be loved by you in any form
was protection, an absolute norm.
And I look at Tish,
and I know the wings you spread about her,
No one’s gonna get there,
not with you about her.
Fire in your spirit that burns throughout your skin,
A devil’s little angel always teetering on sin.
The girls they fell about your feet,
swooning, every time you meet.
You were fucking fit
And boy did you know it.
Yet to be your girl
was to be your world.
And now age has fell upon us creeping up the rear,
and murmurs of your name I do often hear.
You left us far behind, a memory of your past,
Your life began unfurling all so very fast.
Your whisper still is there, it hides beneath the roar,
and your name now opens up metaphorical doors.
You reached beyond the skies,
never scared to stop and try.
You walk another beat that drums to just a few,
you’re a nutter, braver still,
but always the seaside lad I knew.
Karen Hayward ©2016