You gave me hope when there was none,

from the misery in the mother and baby units

from my child's extraction, enraged breasts

useless. It was death, childbirth.

I too sat on the beach, at Southbourne

suicidal, with remorse reeking with illness;

I dug my fingers into the dark, cold sand,

and tussled with the need to stay awake.

I suppose the beach at Hastings was ...

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So I hear from you all that he has died,
the man that touched so many lives.
He has not left you in your heart,
now it's time to do your part,
keep his music alive through the dark.
His shining light will never depart.
He left a legacy to show,
his wishes for those who know.
Never let your creativity die,
From the starman waiting in the sky.

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