The only time I saw you; distant

view on a home counties airfield,

singing I Want You as a slow ballad.  

 

My dear friend Dave, whose best of hearts

still let him down, introduced you

to me, lent me LPs. My faith

 

wavered when you found religion.

Caught up with your later albums

eventually, but that old hobo voice –

 

the same voice mocked by others

from the very beginning –

was hard on the ear. Your words

 

won the Nobel prize, attracting

more praise and mockery. I often

prefer others’ versions of your songs.

 

But happy birthday, Bob Dylan,  

at 80, survivor, troubadour and poet.

Admiration and allegiance minus zero.