There once was a man
Who put good men to shame.

A man who emptied his deepest pockets, 

Shared his smallest plate,

And exhausted every ounce of his being,

All in the name of those he loved.

A man who's eyes were gentle-
Wise and kind.

His supple skin,
Draped delicately over his feeble bones,

Smelled of sweet, sweet flour.

His voice was soft,

Seldom heard,

Yet those who knew him
Clung to every last syllable.
Every last word.

Grace was his pace.
Slow, steady
Fluid and purposeful
Without a tremor in sight.

But, oh!
When the trumpets sounded
And the strings sang out,
When the drums echoed
With their ground-shaking timbre,
How the man would dance!

His feet were restless-
Tingling with the remanence
Of the joyous melodies he knew so well-

As he breathed life into any celebration

His spirit was a thing to behold;
Tried and true.

The man wore his tears like a medal

And his heart on his sleeve,

Reveling in the intricacies

Of this bitter sweet life.

Sweet, sweet

Sweet was he. 

From the way he loved

To the blood that pumped through his veins.

He was father, grandfather, leader,

Lover, brother and friend.

He taught many, fought fairly

Listened thoroughly.

He strayed from folly,
And, instead, found wisdom;

And in that wisdom,
Is where he found peace.

Now he spends his days by the sea side

The sweet, sweet sea side.

Soaking in the perpetual summer sun,

Gaze set on the horizon,

Spreading his love;

His sweet, sweet love.