He died as a youth, in his bloom at his best,
but I see him around, every day since he left.
He went on a train, in the spring eighty-two,
on his way to his home, as anyone do.
The train met a ride at a cross by the lake,
a friend saw the wreck of a car without make.
He took a tour and since long he is gone,
but I met him today; saw him smiling "come on".
And yesterday night, in a park by the sea,
I heard his voice; he was laughing at me.
Though I am so glad, he wanted to be,
a friend and a pal and a soul mate for me:
Still I am angry, that he wouldn't stay,
with a smile in his face but fading away.
But he won't fool me; no identity theft,
I've seen him around, every day since he left.
2013 © Torbjörn Gideskog
EVERY DAY SINCE HE LEFT EVERY DAY SINCE HE LEFT EVERY DAY SINCE HE LEFT EVERY DAY