There were four of us
Roger, Linda, Roy and me
All smoking too much
Banter and chatter fluttered
Roger was quieter than usual
But I think he was decades in the past
Nevertheless, as we smoked more
He got into the swing of things
As the clock's hands moved on
We were just killing time

At last we decided it was time
And we all piled into Linda's car
As we reached the end of the road
The hearse slowly drove across us
Then we saw the guitar on the coffin
His crazy old pink stratocaster
And the years softly fell away
In that wooden box lay our old friend
Memories of his twisted humour
The way he held his arms when he laughed
The way he played that pink guitar
And his wild imagination
All gone forever

                          By Phil Roberts