The guitar was your instrument
Each chord you strung touched souls for generations
Your voice was indeed prophetic
Echoing the prayers of all
Your music was cryptic
Yet there was never a dull moment whenever you held a mic
Send down the rain!
Nature succumbed to your sweet melodies
The sky wept!
Fathers rejoiced because they could hope to harvest
Mothers rejoiced because they could hope to trade
Children rejoiced, dancing in the cold rain
Today the sky looks misty and cloudy
It weeps because you have left its shores
Apotheosis!! Odabò abojọ́
© PUBLIUS CRASSUS (JIA)