His Set Of 7

The waves arrive in sets of 7

So say the surfers from Cornwall too Devon

His first wave was soft

and tiny, and tender...

And the love of his family was so rich in splendour

Then onto school with his books and a smile

And through play and whimsy, friends he made all the while

Then came high school, upon the next crest

And those golden years were some of his best

From raucous game of red ass... and chicken and bulldog, To bunking off maths for a quick fag and a snog

Daring the bus gauntlet, to win a seat at the back, And secret fight clubs at break, were worth all the flak

And Wakestock and Sankeys and usual teen tropes, With summers on beaches and winters on slopes

Then crashed in uni and endless days at computers

And the occasional trek home, shared with early commuters

House music, roof vibes and all night raves, And mad one’s with Ali and Ali and babes

The fifth wave saw travel, pad Thai, buckets and half moon

And scooters in board shorts, watching sunsets through monsoon

Wave six bought a migration that is clearly so vogue

For every Manc moves to London, anything else appears rogue

With it came new passion, plotting landscapes and grounds

And running and cycling and house doos abound

Then a new love, from a familiar source

And first dates and close nights, mutually setting their course

The seventh wave curls in with no surfer to ride

And white foam fizzes out along the edge of the tide

The beach appears empty, once the surfers have withdrawn

And we may feel low sometime, from dusk through to dawn

Yet alas! He’s not gone... So long as we never forget

And he’s smiling and ready...for here comes his next set

Marcus loved life and he lived it with vigour

We may honour him now, by living bolder and bigger

By Charlie