O Wallace, I heard, and could not believe
Like the school days when things you conceived
Made us aghast or grieved
And anxious for the next thing up your sleeve.
You were our magician
Bringing humor out of no where
The apparition with which things disappear
And the brother I held dear.
O Wallace, can it be I see you no more, friend
The eggs in the fowl house stays
Cartoons with Huckles, relays
To Spain Town for raffles that never end
And stories that slant the escapades?
Chalky told me how you died
In that distant Texas place
Far from the frolics and our embrace.
O Wallace, it seems so wrong for one so young
To be already gone, some say
Genius never stays long, I hold nay
It's just like you to do it differently.
Rigor never was forte, and now
It's tough to believe in your rigor mortis
Not drinking beer beneath some bough
Beer drawn from cattle teets.
O Wallace, the noble Thame
Twickenham's child, scholar, savant, different
My heart remembers you and lament
Hard against your merry ways. Flame
A canefield somewhere for him
Ole Farmers let us honor
Our prankster brother, as he would
Swimming the pitch lake flood.
Too mortal are the dreams of men
More mortal our flesh
Too far from heaven ... a little wretch
In each of us ascend
And seem to never make the distance back
The longing heart to mend
O Wallace, I pray your end
Will meet us on faith's common track.
Copyright © L'nass Shango | Year Posted 2009
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