Some Shadows murmur to us from our past;
Some linger, singing in the misty dark.
They’re mournful memories, relentless cast
away with rhythmic beat and loss of heart.
Our song most over now that George is gone.
“He changed the world”_ a daughter’s wistful moan.
A stirring of the light among the leaves
and he has left a sigh. His day has flown.
Oh, deeper than our well of being _ dark!
From deepest depths we hear again his voice.
And we’ve no need to listen to the lark
who hurries through the trees. He has his choice!
I’m here. I hear the sadness in your call:
“I cannot breathe. Oh, Mother, help us all”.