shane.

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 a 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 unlike Each is complete and contained And as each unalike star shines Each ray of light is forever gone To leave way for a new ray And a new ray as from a fountain Complete unto itself, full, flowing. So are some souls like stars And their words, works, songs Like strong 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 flight, The love of right And the creep of blight And 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 stong to hold How much to hold of what is told And know The yield 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 on Bob Dylan