Hyllning till ett geni

Of Bob Dylan

There are those who do not imitate,

Who cannot imitate

But then there are those who emulate.

At times, to expand further the light

Of an original glow.

Knowing that to imitate the living

Is mockery

And to imitate the dead

Is robbery

There are those

Who are beings complete unto themselves

Whole, undaunted - a source

As leaves of grass, as stars, 

As mountains, alike, alike, 

alike,

Yet unalike

Each is complete and contained

And as each unalike star shines

Each ray of light is forever gone

To leave way to a new nay

And a new ray, as from a fountain

Complete unto itself, full, flowing.

So are some souls as stars 

And their words, works and songs

Like strong, quick flashes of light

From a brilliant, erupting cone.

So where are your

mountains

To match some men?

This man can rhyme the tick 

of time

The edge of pain, 
the what of sane

And comprehend the good in men, 

the bad in men

Can feel the hate of fight,

the love of right

And the creep of blight

at the speed of light

The pain of dawn, the gone

of gone

The end of friend, the end of end

By math of trend

What grip to hold what he is told

How long to hold, how strong to hold

How much to hold 

of what is told.

And Know

The yleid of rend; the break of bend 

The scar of mend

I'm proud to say that I know it,

Here-in is a hell of a poet.

And lots of other things

And lots of other things.

(Johnny Cash)