. . . . Scattered reflections on one disappeared:

 

Circle at the hill
Last breath free?
Raucous
Immersed ‘midst the chaos
A scuffle ensued
Enforcement summoned
Cuffed and bound,
Evermore?

How is it to wonder
Of one so long gone
A memory to ponder
A voice with no song?

When first did he stray
Him born of no father
No amusement to play
No soul come to bother?

Yet say them that knew,
Ordained his life rich
Sure early foretold
For talents so young.
Wisdom, a fountain behold.

Now years spent near fifty
Since strife on the hill
And memories mount quickly
Them each year to fulfill.

So get them up high
Full throttle ahead
Raise mugs to the sky
Let festivities be said

To the sojourning sage
I pray he not victim,
Succumbed not to age
To him goes this dictum:

“If you are running,
I wish you fleet feet,
If you are slowed,
I wish you soft bed.
No matter whichever it be
Drink merry, eat hearty
Keep sure in the head”