His ashes are on our mantel, his sailboat tied at our wooden quay.
He'll no longer sail her or bail her, that floating testament
To the different-drummer-marching wanderlusty life he spent.
My mother's sister Judy, she died on Father's Day;
Her ashes are on our mantel, her sailboat tied at our wooden quay.
She'll no longer ride the waves nor sing songs of the sea;
The breeze among the rigging hums her honored memory.
Two souls freed this passing year, two minstrel travellers,
A coronary snatched his life, cancer slowly unraveled hers;
And we are left behind with loss and far too little sense
To grasp the meaning underneath such grave coincidence.
Tags: in memoriam