You came from another place to live here. Why?
Is there a better place beneath the sky?
Did you live longer here than there?
I neither know nor care.
You’re dead now, we exchanged a word or two.
I remember you.
You’re life is drawing to a close, I said.
You said that’s good, and now you’re dead.
Your work lives on, your Sistine Chapel is a pub.
Where I drank and ate grub.
You were a self supporting artist, the kind I like best.
I draw to a conclusion, enjoy your rest.
20th May, 2016