An Eulogy of Sorts, That, Hopefully, Lends Itself To Daver

Do not vainly look in those remote Places, That, once, were acquainted with a Small part of me; Here I roamed beneath congestion's Of tumultuous cloud; Happy in idle dalliance; still the Clouds gather together listlessly Above the mauve quilts of purple Hills... Lit by that strange half-light that Thinly spills Through the gloaming of twilight's Mesh. For those that stayed... They have long since lowered my Emptied body down. And ponder not, my friends, wherest I might be? And think not that I lie mouldering And irretrievably dead For my dimmed eyes have been Re-opened...and thus I wander Unchecked and free; Though no more to haunt narrowed Seclusion of those twisted and Meandering lanes, Where, accompanied by untidy verges Rich with gaudy coloured Cornflowers... Didst contentedly dawdle alongside Dusted fields of ripening grains. For death, in all truth, is just a Gentle passing through when Everything else is finally done and Said. And do not listen out for me In jostling woods when scrambling up Gentle slopes of shallow vales; Rather, deep inside retreating Bowers, Catch the ever sounding notes of Sweetest liquidity! Soon a sharp tinkling of dropping And yellowing leaves; And, revealed in all their Rudeness, Stripped bare - gaunt trunks of Ancient trees! But the shrunken trees shall so Prevail... As my shrunken soul so too prevails. And think, if only briefly, of what Were the living bones As you arise to early dawns newly Fashioned vibrance and hue; But those tired bones have long Since atoned! Or, perhaps, when you retire at the End of each finished day You could enrich my memory in some Fond, albeit unimportant, enduring, And a gradual slow-smiling sort of Way. For what is left is nothing but mere Residual... As if a finely carpeted sprinkling of Glistening, summer dew. But that immortal residual has Now become part of the living Currents eternal stream; No longer held within thin bloods Coursing grey veins; At odd times, I would hope, A sudden flashing recollection, a Diminished image of a blithe spirit That compels upon you...as does A momentarily sparkling glimmer Ignited by the brighest glint of a Fleeting gleam! Then let them say only this of me, That, indeed, for him, this is a Most fitting eulogy. For I should wish of all there ever Was...at least this much so Remains. Rest in peace, Daver. Your respectful friend Through words. john