Some of the best musicians I know are also writers of fine poetry. Moro's guitar spills absolute beauty when his fingers touch the strings, and his pen runs the gamut, from deeply spiritual to whimsical storytelling when his compositions come out as words instead of breathtaking guitaristry. On this page, you'll find three of my favorites. One of them, ALMITRA, is the lyric of one of his most melodious and beautiful songs, included on his album A DROP IN THE OCEAN which was released on the Purple label when he was known as Buddy Bohn.

MORO

THE POEMS

Almitra
The Sailor
My Own Song

ALMITRA

Like a Ballerina,
Almitra,
Graceful lady,
Asked him to speak to her of wine…

…When it’s Autumn in the vineyard,
And you gather grapes for the wine,
Remember in your heart
You also will be gathered
In some harvest time.

And when you draw upon the wine,
Keep a song in your gaze,
And may there be in your song
A remembrance
Of those Autumn days.

Like a Ballerina,
Almitra,
Graceful lady,
Asked him to speak to her of love…

…To know the pain of tenderness,
To feel a wound in your heart,
And yet to bleed with joy,
And wake with every sunrise
With bubbles in your heart.

Look to the pleasure of your love,
And the pain do not fear,
Or you will live without the seasons,
Laugh without your laughter
And cry without your tears.

THE SAILOR
	My old friend is a sailor From the crew of many boats. In his face shine the answers Taught by visions and horizons Lit with precious understanding. He's learned so many nameless lessons From the risings And the settings Of the sun—this vagabond in me. "What you see in me is you," he says, "For we never see each other— Only ourself who is the other. “And the sense of one and other Cannot stand before the vision In the mirror One could think to be another." Moro -- 2002

MY OWN SONG

With his music from a golden season,
A young troubadour has come my way.
Have I gone astray?
With visionary things to say,
In a song he says I wrote, he serenades me-
With my own song enchants me-
This gypsy troubadour in me.

He sings my own song-
His voice from deep within my heart-
Leading me home so reverently.

He has traveled far to find me wandering
From my castle in a golden age-
This kindly sage-
A friend for reasons he won't say,
He's the Prince of Shangri-La bestowing riches
With the song he sings-the peace he brings-
This gypsy troubadour in me.

He sings my own song-
His voice so warm within my heart-
Leading me home so reverently.

From the back roads of a golden season,
Sings a troubadour who's come my way
Have I gone astray?

MORO

THE POEMS

ALMITRA

THE SAILOR

MY OWN SONG