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

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