my Lord, but ain’t it a peculiar rhyme
here is a man come nearer His gate
persistent, n’er thwarted by rigors of time
comes once more bemusing his old friend’s fate.
no matter the voices, there are those will deride
him of remnants of embers near ashes, barely alive,
louds his whispers makes akin to a swashbuckling tide,
revives a morsel, fleeting of hope his friend yet survives.
half century of vestiges of time slowly withered, yet defying
since came that one single witness testified last to a sighting.
saw him scuffling and brawling, alive all the while he was dying
told custody they took him, twas alleged he was fighting.
but just once, told from yesterdays chapters there emerged
an image, a muttering that spoken so ruptured still of one night:
“How goes it down there?” ” i’m the one for whom you long searched
Here now but just brief sufficient to shine you this light:”
“Comes a time a man finds his peace, makes his amends,
all them learned certain, entrenched in adversity and grief
For me the road traveled was laden of bumps with no end
And a toll steep, but though costly, finally I found my relief.”
his voice trailed as thoughts deferred to my slumber,
but I came awake mid morn with sleep not resumed,
lay solitary recounting his travails, them without number
consoled by a peace that lingered ’til sun filled my room.
now I proclaim to the audience before me
circle your hands ’round a cold, frosty brew,
raise ’em up high, this toast to him wherever he be
to Ronnie Murphy, merriest of birthdays
and may they forever and ever renew.
~ ~ ~