A little Scottish Firebrand
sang songs of sweet sedition
in the Crane on a Friday night.
Against the common view
he took the contrary position
and our Jack weren't afraid to fight.
He tilted at the wind mills
of the merchant status quo
and tried to tell the people
what they really need to know
In poetry, in plays and song
he tried to show us what was wrong
and urged us to set it right.
Though almost blind our Jack could see
the sad degeneration
of the "City of the Tribes"
The hallowed City Council
with its secret machinations
Politicians and Bloody Bribes.
They'd sell us down the river
to satisfy their greeds
when proper sanitation's what
the river really needs
not liquorice allsort architects
and vacillating burocrats
and penny pinching scribes.
Now Jack still stands among us
when we gather in his memory.
How well I see him standing there
singing some sweet Scottish air
his hand held to his ear.
So pour another Guinness
and sing another song.
Jack Mitchell, this is not farewell
it's simply, "Hey, so long!"
Where e'er I go your memory
will help me walk in liberty
and not give in to fear.
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©Renate Mitchell. May not be reproduced in any form online or offline without explicit written permission.