Memoriam For Donald B Buchanan

Who will weep for my noble prince? Who will cry With belly swollen with sorrow, and tears long As the Black River? Who will hear the clouds sigh And turn black over red clay, and being strong Not feel this agony no rain wash away? Tell me, you angels, before the bamboos die Before the swallows sing no more in the sky Did you comfort him before he passed away? Did you assure him the people shall remain The sovereign of his God's vast and frugal domain? O my little prince, my loyal, handsome prince My native flesh and blood! Tell the Maroons come Down the mountain drumming death now, let them rinse Our agony with their songs, let fingers long dumb Speak again on the skin of the goat. Call them Like birds to flock against the gray evening mist And tell his deeds writing days on love's long list: He was their voice, their concrete Jerusalem And O how he loved them, and O how he cared And for nothing gave all, so no one despaired. This is the man I weep, this is the friend I lost This is the soul of pure compassion so still Amidst the tributes and tears. Pain is love's cost When the barren room no other soul shall fill O that you knew this man, that you talked with him Under tree or in the broiling sun, did he Not touch you as one destined for a jubilee Lifted on the people's love? Let stars be dim Till I have no more tears to shed, he is dead Donald B. Buchanan is dead! Day has fled! Why death must you such a tyrant be? What plans Have you not overthrown, mark the limit set By you, pouring our life like the hour glass sands Giving us for our flightless dreams dire regret. How blindly you rail against the cross and Christ And sow this kingdom with rot, and make us vain Shall you be still proud when He comes again Shall Danny and I not rise by His sacrifice To drive again the long road and hear the sea Roaring in our dreams, and know the mass is free? Then shall the bamboos like God's orchestra sing And the Santa Cruz Mountains burst in bright light Where we shall play eternal children, and bring Tributes of praise to the eternal king. Night Has no beauty that shall outshine our glad days Nor love no promise excellent as our joy When these valleys rise and nothing can destroy My faith made real, and friendship near forever stays For death is done. Until then I miss you still Bulwark and bastion of the people's will