He's Music

poem by: Raychill Ellisonwonderland
Written on Dec 10, 2015

Born on a Wednesday at one two eleven, 
what a fine year, nineteen eighty seven.

Ears painted on to handsome framed face, 
you cruise through this world at a lightening pace. 

Bangs on your bass raise temparaChurz, tempo so natural all emotions are stirred 

Such soft angel lashes, as hard as they come, 
your rhythm is instinct, like the beat of your drum.

Singing sweet soaring no fret left undone, 
I can only be talking ‘bout you my cool Son.


Tags: happy, love, rhyme,

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Christopher Russon commented:
Lovely cool poem.
Frank byrne commented:
Cool poem Raychill.........I've got a guitarist grandson.....was in a band called..Hoags Object....(stuff on u tube..)...keeps me young ..hahaha......you are so proud of your son.....it's obvious....


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