#4 Poem for Nick Drake

Strange that I’d never heard
the haunting words you wrote.
Not once had I reveled in the
darkness found between the notes.

I think I have been in your room,
stood at the round window you had there.
I’ve gazed, misty across the meadows
that felt the weight of your thoughtful stare.

I see you were one not sad, but sick
the gloom that consumed you organically grown,
while your light long fingers danced on strings
words and melodies were born straight from bone.

My soul knows you, Nick, as a quiet man.
Your laughter comes from another room.
Your sadness comes close now with each careful word
I find you everywhere now, like the moon.