My friend.
You came into my room so distressed,
The musicians you loved had all been depressed
And you wondered if you might turn out the same as them,
Play the same sad songs, drink whisky and smoke.

With all the dysphoria took over compassion
Your clothes got expressive, you'd changed your fashion
You accepted you'd sit in you chair with old age
And read all the books, and imagine taking to stage.

But for now you sat beside me and said let's not be scared
You re-assured me of the life you most feared
Somehow this comforted both your mind and mine,
Dark looks for dark, it must be hard to be blind.

We shall meet again someday, you said. Doubtful.
As we walked past all the towering oak trees, so tall
And the more you had to leave the less help I could lend
Your violin still plays melodies which I can't quite comprehend.