Wearing dark sunglasses under a Chelsea moon.
Blue mists over the city,
rain splashes on old London pavements,
Brian Jones walking home with a pocket full of harmonicas,
In a glorious unknowing of the length of his short life left to live.
Soho café milk bar magic,
number 176 bus rattling down Charing Cross road to destinations where Joss Sticks seeped into colored curtains.
Transistor radio playing Waterloo Sunset on an underground train,
the newness shone out to those streets with Jingle Jangle Tambourines that followed our footsteps,
and timeless bells welcomed in midnight.
And now a headstone bears your name,
and faithful followers leave flowers.
You marked a place that only you could know.
A death in the 1960’s, a grave now covered in snow.