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Boruch Fishman Poem
He was graced with long life as the work he required,
A present flame, aft he retired,
He deepened the souls that sat before him,
And made them express with written decorum.
He read their assignments with special attention
That challenged and called forth youth's finest rendition.
He opened the door to a life well read,
His students entangled in Baalat's web.
Gazing back through the specularium of time
One saw an intellect so immensely fine
That it slightly abashed those of higher grade,
His light joining their lights where others fade.
Moving on one lingered a bit in the past,
Still meeting challenges from his intellect, so vast.
That it scarce was contained
In the role for him framed.
His soul now borne upon the Stygian Lake
Leaves proper grammar trailing in its wake;
This gentle muse vanished in the night,
The curtains closed, doused the light.
No need for stately obelisk oe'r his bier
To greet mournful pilgrims once a year;
For though he'll be long gone,
The phallic symbol, he loved so, lives on.
Copyright © Boruch Fishman | Year Posted 2012
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