For Martin,

People who came to the beach town
Had always searched that man with hair brown,
Martin as he was known to all
Had always listeners around him, big and small,
He would sit on a canvas chair
And strum a song in his guitar,

The songs sung were always full of tales,
Of yesterdays and also of modern Fables,
Of princes and kings and sailors,
Of politicians and men with valour,

He sang them fluid like a gust a wind
He sang them gaily only to bind
People around him who came from near and far,
He would sit just on a canvas chair
And shake his mane like brown brown hair,

Many years after had Martin gone
To another land perhaps in search of a song,
They put a chair of canvas on the beach right
To make him unforgettable , for days and nights,
And they had placed a guitar there too,
In name of Martin and his songs so true.

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