Poetry

A man of music
chose life by the guitar.
Fixed to the drink,
he chose time in the biz-arre.
Fourty six years 
without fear, he cheers'd.
He down'd his last bottle
of angels tears.
He hung up his hat
and he counted to seven.
Now the Man of Music
sings his songs in The Heavens.

R.I.P.
RWS (DAD)