An Ode to "Yog"
by Shirley Petrandis
East Finchley boy, born 63'
But Kingsbury- grew up did he.
And there he met a soulful lad,
Andrew became his new comrade.
Together did they form a band,
And toured strong, throughout the land.
But soon, the call to go alone,
Led him to venture on his own.
So, George Michael became the name,
He'd use to claim the world in fame.
Respect, he earned, from far and wide,
He bore the scars, lay wait the pride.
His voice, truly a gift from God,
His look made him a young heartthrob.
His burdens, carried, like a cross,
His choices, varied, he was his boss.
When scrutinized, he persevered,
The songs he wrote, soon all revered.
Straight from the heart, he spoke his mind,
A private man, yet giving and kind.
Still, blind some were in their attempts,
To bring him down and keep him spent.
Yet in the end, his words rang true,
Throughout the world, and heaven too.
Now known for his integrity,
This selfless man of rarity,
Whose soul lives on, within his songs,
Great artist, man, to God, belongs.