David is dead!
How the days, no longer tight-fisted,
are liberal in their grief!
Bold, eloquent, unequalled in his rare
humanity, he could not match his Final
Enemy; outwit the Opponent’s skill.
Comfort ye, comfort ye, My people.
Not for him the ineptitudes of age:
Time shall forever find him young.
The years shall never dim the brightness
of his eyes. His steps shall never stumble.
Time shall not tarnish his compassion,
nor its deception,
his humility.
His lips shall never wear the cynic’s sneer,
only the gentle
half-smile even
at his parting,
In every cane-blade, frangipani, flamboyant,
baobab; In every heart his words
shall filter to the very root and
spring again
for generations yet
to come.
Stalwart, Brave Warrior, Loyal Son, Â
Up, up and on. Our Tide of love will bear you home,
 till we shall meet again, till we shall
meet again.
 Esther Phillips is an educator, poet and editor of BIM: Arts For The 21st Century. Email eephillips7@hotmail.com
