Last words for Martin Kitcher
Free to go and play with the trees.
A tickling breeze.
The sunshine in summer.
The raindrops that fall.
The calling was his.
Was called way too soon.
Look upwards at nighttime.
He's stood by the moon
Guitar in hand.
Making angels swoon.
We all have our memories.
The young guy full of music.
With the spiky dark hair.
Livvi **