Gustav was a wanderer
     He wandered round the world
The life he led was hard
     Alone, outside he curled

Money to eat he sold his art
     The streets they made him tough
He hoped to find a brand new start
     But getting there was rough

For art and life he did leave
     Free floating from place to place
From pain he had beauty concieved
      And refused to join the rat race

Some called him bum, but they knew naught
      His riches could not measure
From experience he got
     And infinity of experiencial pleasure

Gus was a guy who wandered around with his whole life packed in bags
      King of nothing he was crowned and his time spent in rags

Wise and kind this was his way
     He cared not what others did say

His own true path his heart is leads
     Listening to intuition was what he heeds

Then one day he dissappeared
      Perhaps he went down south
To warmer climes he veered
      This desire he spoke of from mouth

Remember him I do by art
     It hangs proud over my desk
He gave it to me from his cart
     A thing I'm happy to posses

Memories as well, Gus he gave
     His poesy at an open mic
For our great debates I sometimes crave
     I remember his beat up bike

Gus was an artist to his core
      He understood life to be much more

He always stopped to smell the flowers
     He often thought for what seemed like hours

Although his life some might call hard
     Upon his good this did not mare

I wish you well wherever you are
     We'll meet again, whethe