Though thirty years I’ve searched,
Seen my optimism battle tested
Yet sustains, a trifle doubted
Where might he be,
What is apt to be his plight?
His life fulfilled and so him gone,
Laid low ‘neath granite slab?
Or yet pursuing Truth
While bonds hold him not yet free?

So if perhaps this one last time
No matter where he may be
Pray he hears our joyful toast
Let us raise our mugs up high
“Happy Birthday Ronnie Murphy
Wherever you may trod or fly.”


Was that the wind
A tempest blew,
Or ‘stead,
Vestiges of my life
Gone whooshing by?

~ ~ ~


Cast me ashes to the sky
When done my time to be,
As the winsome butterfly,
~ ~ ~