Sometimes I think about being for someone else what I needed the most and lost to time and death.
Mentors like fathers are not immune to the call from the beyond. They may leave you at any time like the tobacco that sits on the purple table blown away to oblivion by the wind –reluctant departures, yet departures all the same.
Mentors no more in this world, this world of the living.
Mentor could I be to whom?
Perhaps, I am, but a clown who’s already here, hey Ol’ Blue Eyes?