At the Kardomah With Mick

With his leonine face, Young for his age, A little unsteadily he Climbs onto the stage, Adjusts the microphone From his special chair Benevolently regarding us All eagerly waiting there. A raconteur, a story teller, He explains his song choice Then holds us all captive With the power of his voice. Songs of the sea Songs of a different age Songs of life and politics As he sits and owns his stage. The minutes fly like seconds As the night flows smoothly on Until all too soon it’s over And Mick is up and gone. But, every Sunday afternoonI I know where he’s to be found, With his talented gang at The Minerva Sing Around, And that’s real class. Sadly, first The Kardomah and then Mick gone, but we have our memories