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Crosby, A. Alan
27 May 1951 - 12 January 1977
Ode to Alan (written 2/10/77)
I was sitting here, all alone
In this spot where we sat not too long ago
And a butterfly stopped, and lit on me
Almost as if she knew I was thinking of you.
She must have seen the expression on my face
Or the sad look in my eyes
"Where is our friend? Why did he go away?"
I don't know ... Happy and at peace, I hope
No one knows why ... We never will.
It's been a month, four weeks, twenty days
I still weep ... I'm still sad, but I think I realize
You did what wanted to do for you.
The butterly left, as did you, without saying goodbye
Will I ever know why you didn't love life?
For you had so much Alan ...
So much ... maybe too much?
Thank you for sharing a little with me.