From 2015 - for Rod McKuen
The gentle singer of our youth has died
The poet of empty Sunday afternoons
And solitary strolls through Balboa Park
Among lovers and Frisbee-chasing dogs
Of laughing with shipmates while cleaning rifles
Because we knew more than the armorer
About dreaming away from learning war
About pretty girls laughing in the sun
And a chansonnier in sweater, sneaks, and jeans:
The gentle singer of our youth has died
