Overheard at My Own Funeral


What can I say about my friend?

He was a joy, a pain, a most

giving heart, fervent brain. Truth

be told he was, in the end,

more or less what we wanted, host

to our worries and challenges, cooth

or raucous when we wanted, mend

for our slaughtered fences. He’d joust

for the sake of argument, be smooth

or curse worse than a Yankee fan. Friend

to the outcasts. Hyperbolator. He’d boast

of deeds done and imagined. He too,

in the end, could say little provably honest,

so in his stead, I shall say nothing modest.

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A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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