His drumbeat was my closest pre-teen companion,
A rock-hymn that echoed down the years,
Sometimes smooth jazz swing, sweet balm to my ears,
He gave voice to my batsqueak rebellion.

Always suave, simply the best dressed gent ever,
Manners as impeccable as his attire,
Through good times and bad, never thought to retire,
Will we see the likes of him again? I think never.

With a drum-roll the Pearly Gates open,
To be lauded by rock-icons tearfully summoned,
All hail! Your star will shine forever as the brightest diamond,
Farewell Charlie Watts, so many hearts lay broken.

© Robert Porteus