Tribute To The Late Warren Zevon Poem by Marcel Tourdot

A friend of mine I never knew died only yesterday
He spoke the truth within his heart a genius some may say.
A kindred spirit met his maker just the other day.
I missed him long before he ever actually went away.

Sometime I still see the trees that look like crucified thieves
The sun so often finds the way to beat so angry
Down on me.
And all too often I find myself just like a desperado under the eaves.

The wolves are where? I bet he’d say
There off with Roland and Mohammad.
Up there around London way.

But still I feel I’m better off and wiser for the fact.
My unknown friend was so well versed
So well equipped to write the songs
My heart does now exact.