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
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2011
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