In the corner of a pocket
Dedicated to a rhyme
Leaves the writer
On pyre of fire so fine
As children gather round
The last of his kind
In the town

I have been a wordsmith in another time
A lover and a keeper of rhyme
A lasting recreation
On pad of write
Wonder who
She loves tonight

So I pick up my pencil
And kiss it true
Leave a pad of paper
For the few I knew
And I walk the path
Of scribe true
Leave my heart
On a sleeve just for you

As the key pad sings a new tune
A few that remembered
Gather round
As his last position
Buried in a time box
On the corner
going down
and the editor
he is smiling
for he finaly
won

last of a bre'd
done