Bob Dylan lives across the road from me,

I see him every night,

His scraggy hair and lived in face.

illuminated by the street lights.


His tree top image is of Black & White,

like Che Guevara in full flight.

  Clustered leaves make hollowed out eyes,

a question eyebrow raised.


Two branch's drop to form a nose,

others crisscross , in jaws , to pose.

His Gypsy face , my mind's eye shows.

But soon that face will be no more.


As Autumnal winds begin to blow,

I wonder will he bloom again in Spring.  ?

or will this just be the end ?

The answer my friend, is blowing in the Wind.

The answer is blowing in the Wind.


  By Holly Barrett