On the Death of My Father

So at last you forever sleep
In that old man's embrace
You wrote and spoke of him often
And now have seen his face

We have not heard death's final call
Nor felt his icy hand
So I turn to what we know: LIFE!
And I knew yours firsthand

To have lived with so great a mind
Certainly left its mark
Yet brilliance sometimes shut to black
And contrasts often stark

But when you shined, you lit the world
Splashing colors sublime
Painting on canvases of souls:
Ideals sketched out in rhyme

You adored history, flowers . . .
Oh yes, and talk of sex!
From bawdy jokes to sensuous verse
T'was the best of subjects

War hero, scholar and genius —
All descriptions I've heard
Yet, most loved that sense of humor
And zeal for the absurd

You were above all romantic
Such passion offered N_
God, those love letters you wrote her . . .
(She loves you now as then)

You are where you knew you would be
How we will miss you, dad
I live in delight by your art
And so will not be sad

You lived and left it for all of us
Forever.