Hear me O beleaguered soul,
By His grace do still you run
Fleeing quick from siren’s toll
Years hurried flee, not yet done?

Or perchance repentance told,
Poor deeds at last them now done true,
Around your neck, amulet polished gold,
Tell the faith in you He knew?

My memory calls, provokes me still,
That hazy night, came blurry sleep, I witnessed thee,
Ragged, midst corks, smoldering butts and bottled pills
Bed aground, cardboard feathers wrapped cast to lee.

For truth demanding and wanting soon,
Dawned a night alive, by ghostly sound
Beneath the chill of darkened moon
Lured me to the dead man’s ground.

There scribed unto the granite stone,
“I am here, been here years, but where go ye?”
And a murmur down beneath, gurgling, a moan,
“So oft the times you tread on me.”

Lo the time, the decades without retire
Endless searching yet nary appears account of you
To know not whether you be ash or you be fire
Though I confess to wonder:  would I write if I knew?

So now comes occasion to set all aside,
Only pay tribute to our wandering friend.
Raise high our foam-filled mugs of bubbling tide
Cheers, friend, I pray thee be free, no matter thy end:

May you survive as long as you want
And never want as long as you live
But alas if your life has found its last breath,
Hurry, come drink with us
When returned from your death!

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