His family, from colonial days.
His life, near a century of time.
How to encompass such with
ephemeral words on fragile paper.

Work, family, music, poetry writing.
Light that illumed, sparkled.
Light that came with smile and song,
melody ran before and lingered after.

Each life has time and place to fill.
Each one unique, valued by God.
The empty place, the void he’s left,
another century will never fill.

Comes day’s end in this poor life,
happily will I go,
if this be said of me,
“His measure was to Richard’s knee”.

© by Frederick J. Schubert 2009