Farewell Leonard Cohen
whose every lyric was a poem,
Whose life, the wand'ring minstrel's song,
The Buddhist monk's meditative gong,
Courtly and earthy kneeling on stage
to his lovers, our servant,
In his dashing 70s, still the rage, more fervent,
At the last, asking if we wanted "it darker," *
Life still coursing, but starker,
Of his salad days, at the Chelsea hotel, **
A place he met Janis, perhaps not yet in hell
and knew her devotionally and well,
Contemplative star with amorous groupies,
Passionate, ephemerally loopy,
His irony, sans derision or slight
Helping me me through many a night.
For you now, Leonard C, we
"Ring the bells that still can ring," **
And silently sing,
Staying in motion,
Letting go of the "perfect offering" notion, ***
Rememb'ring withal and despite,
Those fissures in all which let in the light,**
Your house is in order, a graceful good night.