Tribute to John Preston Lewis

MY FRIEND, JOHN, ON HIS DYING

How can I help you know, my distant friend

Whose soul recovered long ago from shame?

Myself, I cannot even now pretend

To know you well enough, and I'm to blame

For that.  Not seeking time nor reaching far

Enough to be enriched by such a sum

Of richness that your soul is in the dark

Of death and will be in the light to come.

I can only weep and tell you, brother,

How the few times that you touched me

Remain such tender paths to help me further

On this journey toward recovery.

Such gentle spirit bathed with gentle grace

I shall remember always in your face.

I wish I could recover time not spent

In seeking out the wisdom in your presence

Or seeking deeper for respect you lent

To every creature in your art and essence.

The brotherhood and friendship I have missed

In not pursuing debates and pass-time games,

Not gaining something from you, except for this--

To know your spirit, to know yourself and name.

Though I know you less than what I do,

Though the limits now are set for time,

Though I lose the chance to right things new

I'll never lose the gift of you that's mine.

So, my brother, rest in painless sleep

And know your leaving leaves my soul to weep.