Not much sleep had; off to work; still icy
But morning rain dispelled the remnant slush
In the evening, a night of poetry
In memory of Alex, who would much
Have enjoyed himself there. Got back in touch
With some old faces, many of them nice
As usual the odd one or two not
It’s simple: avoid those who take the piss
They’re not worth it; they mustn’t have a lot
Of happiness inside. Poor Alex; what
A loss to the scene. He could sometimes see
The harsh side of people, so quick to judge
Him, as we all judge. If they’re not our sort
We give them the cold shoulder. Alex, he
Stays in our thoughts, though far beyond our reach
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