Inspired doctorates by the score,
annoyed purists of folklore,
sang lyrics through his nose,
decried the powerful who pose,
knew how to make a band
in a manner far from planned.
You might say he strode a world stage
on behalf of youthful rage,
ducked a Readers Digest,
was the star of many a rockfest,
took holding power to task
in a way straight guys couldn’t ask,
and the academics how they swooned
as their shibboleths he lampooned.
Many years later at The Fleadh
my son was there with his old dad.
‘He can’t even sing’, he said.
‘Plays a good mouth organ’, I replied.
‘One of these days you’ll appreciate the man –
it takes a long time to become a real fan.
It did for me’.
For I was so much older then,
I’m younger than that now’.