The jacket, covered in

A simple autumn leaf –

And the season after

Summer leads to loss.

Familiar in

Today’s poetic lines,

A relayed life that speaks

To largesse, lost in lies.

 

He read to me from the

Pages broadsheets print –

Never a truer word

Spoke the op-ed page.

He proffered words (and thoughts)

That others thought would scare

And the page was hazy

Without his ideas there.

 

His final years were spent –

Proficient, maladroit –

Oh, if only he could –

But no – the time had passed.

He’d ne’er live to regret –

He wouldn’t be deceived –

Too old for suggestions

That those left should bereave.

 

The butterfly and breeze –

The minstrel and the web –

Enjoy the laughter and

The warmth his smile brings.

Please don’t be sad that day

When passing comes to be –

Sardonically bestow on

What his time had come to mean.

Published by Owen Tilley