in memory of will palin

a gentle man,
the perfect host,
always ready
with tea and toast,
a smile and a story
about improbable days,
on the road with bowie
in the glamrock haze,
but never one to
preen or boast
you always kept it
low key,
not really wishing
to summon
the stardust ghosts,
well, not entirely.

will, we hardly
really knew you,
but now any walk
along myrtleberry
down the cleeve
to the shining sea,
will carry with it
the sad knowledge
of your absence
and that its
wrong,
that it just should
not be.
but still,
the gentle,
smiling memory of you
will come
and always will,
like a scent or
half-heard music
upon the hills
at evening.

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