December Passing: M— M—

The story's done. That cobbled path you trod
Has reached its termination—even thus
Your spirit is relinquished unto God
But part of you remains behind with us.

The perils of the body you well knew,
An heir to mortal shock like any other,
Survived by many friends, your brother too,
And by your faithful wife and loving mother.

You grew into your manhood, facing steady
Travails portentous few have had to bear,
And, bearing them, were always at the ready
To make a graceful joke, and shun despair.

​Like as the radiant sun casts constant rays
On various quarters, your grace was effulgent,
And felt by many. It is this allays
Our sorrow when in grief we are indulgent.

If I had ten years to bestow you, Mike,
That you might live beyond this terminus,
I would not hesitate, cut short my pike
Which wearies me aplenty even thus— 

Yet such determinations owned by God,
I only might, in memory of you,
Try to live better, scrambling on the sod,
This mortal coil, which you so lately knew.

God, we had fun! Our friends—and then you married,
All went their separate ways, save for intent
"To get together soon," but plans miscarried,
And, well-intending, oft-awry they went.

No matter. To have known you was a gift,
If sorely prized, a gift which keeps on giving,
For, in despair, I hear your words' uplift,
Encouragement, to help me keep on living.