A newspaper in hand,
glasses on his nose,
he sat on his big blue chair,
with a carefree pose.

A fire by his side,
the commentator in his ear,
he'd pause his daily routine,
and change what's on his mind.

He'd greet me with a big
"Hello",
in a deep country voice,
lots of questions followed, all the while quietening Marty's gig.

I saw him in bed that night,
the mask of life around his mouth;
this time I greeted him with a big "Hello",
hoping he'd reply.

His eyes remained closed,
his hand in hers,
the sound of the commentator unquiet,
the newspaper at his bedside, untouched and exposed.