Hoppy Birdy Johnny, I send you a strung hog!

There was a man who loved the sound of words. He could hear colors and smell music. I dunno how many trips he took all I know is he was taken. He could speak freely even when he didn't want to, it just got out. His tongue was a troublemaker. He looked for forgiveness and probably never found the door. A small door, he always knew where it was. He has a crater on the Lake of dreams named after him, yet, many believe he can't have a place in heaven... All the awful things he said, all the arrogance is minimized when you hear his craddle songs, for all his songs appear to be lullabies. A sweet heart, a harsh voice and a wall in his eyes, for he was worlds appart from our world - he believed to be. Yet, I have always prayed for mercy for this lonely soul, always looking, never finding. Time against his back, old lugagge won the "karma" race, when you just cannot embrace grace and forgiveness. Gardener, I sure hope you have water.