This is a simple poem of tribute for someone very special, who all-but commanded me to embrace the creative side of myself as my Christian duty. It's almost been five years since his repose, and I wasn't sure I was ever going to write a poem about what his presence in my life meant, but here it is, and I mean every word.
May His Memory Be
(For Fr. J.)
May his memory be eternal,
Who placed into my waiting hands the harp of hope,
Bidding me to wring silver from its singing strings
With the fingers of fervent faith,
To trust in the truth of beauty
And to soar aloft upon the lightsome wings
Of whatever is good and lovely.
May his memory be perennial,
Who gave me the courage to care for myself,
To look to all the little things for joy,
The old things, the true things,
The things of childhood which bring us home,
And the loves and longings which send us forth once more.
May his memory be immortal,
Though autumn comes to kill the kindness of summer
With the blazing glory of its grief,
Though the winter of despair will spend, again and again,
The fires I have stoked against it,
Though life itself cannot linger here as long as we would wish,
May, Oh! May his memory be!
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