Mhall46184@aol.com
[From 2015]
For Rod McKuen
The gentle singer of our youth has died
The poet of empty Sunday afternoons
And solitary strolls through Balboa Park
Among lovers and Frisbee-chasing dogs
Of laughing with shipmates while cleaning rifles
Because we knew more than the armorer
About dreaming away from learning war
About pretty girls laughing in the sun
And a chansonnier in sweater, sneaks, and jeans:
The gentle singer of our youth has died
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