A poem for a drummer. Sir Watts.
Aug 27, 2021
The savage paradiddle
Beaten upon skin or
The hide of the devil.
Sticks tossed and caught
Like the acrobat in flight.
No fear, even though you
Are lighter than darkness is bright.
What now for me? Surely not yet the end,
Because dearest Charlie,
I’m still, I am still, waiting on that friend.