Silently wafting through the night air,
He hovered like the wildest bird,
He breathed the love that massaged our soul,
Seeped through our insanest world,
And it’s not leather jeans, jacket or shirt,
Not the Oxford, Twill or Plain weave,
But rather the way he sang what he sang,
When he wore who he was on his sleeve,
The enigma, a puzzle, a new force of nature,
He sang what the world needed to hear,
Light my…Love her… People are strange,
And, like the words, he’d then disappear,
Jim was the first before thousands of firsts,
Showed the rockers how they should behave,
With Jimi and Janis in the twenty seven club,
In Paris in a beautiful grave.
Written for Chantelle Anne Cooke contest "Writers on the Storm", 3rd May 2019
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