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I do not wish to nose out reckless facts
You may have perpetrated as a boy,
Nor, I repeat, do I condemn your acts
On stage, which are inspired and give us joy.
You aren’t a soulless robot in a skin;
Computers couldn’t make your songs, for sure,
Including one in which you fail to win
A goddess standing sadly at the door.
Your smile was never Californian,
But that of Joker, Jester, Jack, or Knave;
And far from abusing your great power when
You stun a crowd, its souls you help to save.
I’m pleased to greet you; hope you get my gist:
Your own sweet soul is waiting to be kissed.
Sympathy for Sir MicK
by Michael Peach

 

 

 

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