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Poem

Once there was a TALL tale
of a young "bluesman" who didn't play very well

Robert was his name
and playing the "Blues" was his game

Hazel Hurst, Mississippi is where he is from
A legend, one day he would soon become

But meanwhile, he would play and sing tirelessly throughout the day and night
The juke joint was his home and his aim was to get his music right

But despite his efforts, his music was not well received
Some said he was too young, others said he just couldn't play, but either way, this made his heart bleed

But he continued as he tried and tried and even cried
Albeit dismayed, he continued to play and bide and bide

And then one day he decided to just disappear
Poof! Gone just like that into obscurity for about a year

To the "Crossroads"
To get light away from his abode

To the "Crossroads"
To discard a heavy load

Yes! To the "Crossroads"
To receive the big goad

Stripped down, naked and vulnerable
Getting downright uncomfortable to get comfortable

He left with six and returned with seven
Many said he cheated and others said it was a gift from heaven

Many still speculate about Robert and the "crossroads."
How could he disappear and return 'great' with musical gifts stowed?

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