I wander in the mists of time 'Mid the spectral ghosts of poets now long gone Shakespeare, Tennyson, Keats But now Ernesto walks among them Bones, now turned to dust Skeletal remains so few But written words survive Bodies crumble, wither, and soon so little remains But the written word is never lost And so the memories remain
I would like to thank my friend Wolf for letting us know that a great talent has left us. He wrote for himself with honesty, he wrote for us with hope in his heart