"You can do anything...if you’ve a 
   mind to," came the soft voice, speaking
   out from a tethered, sunken, sofa through
   smoke screens and hot toddied, long
   Johnny Walkers.

       Words of such stature from a frailing,
   paling, half-forgotten wearied lost man,
   not much older than my own mirrored
   image.

       In time I’ve searched my mind for
   truths. There was never a moment for
   you. I can still hear your harp wailin’ 
   Saint Louis Blues in my mind.

       Only fifty-seven years…then gone…
   weary drifter on life’s path…artist,
   musician, solitary man…extinct. Here I 
   say to you:

       You are the lighthouse who still guides
   me through the craggy rocks and fog, 
   the evergreen of hope in my night. How
   you shine...keeper of my proud heart.

       The very reason I stand tall and carry
   on in this crowd has everything to do 
   with you - Gone but not forgotten...
   Irish Man.