Bluesman
He's just
Any old man
In any old bar
With a guitar
Then a drunk
Comes up and say's
Play us a barre
Every line on his face
Is a hook
For a book
Every crease in his neck
Is for the pain
He had to take
So he didn't care
About some young drunk
He just pulled up a chair
He started to play
People could do nothing but stare
At the sweet sound
Of misery and despair
As the bluesman played
The drunk fell to his knees
Tears of respect
Rolled down his face
As he felt the bluesmans fears
He took him to places he'd never been
He took him back
With the sweet sound of home
He took him
To where he had grown
His name
Was bluesman Jack
poem by Dave Alan Walker
Added by Poetry Lover
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