A Death In Saint Paul

An empty chair, a monument to kin.
So long been worn from years of treasured use.
A missing space so wears a chipper grin.
A warm expression sweet and old as spruce.

For weary hearts did ne’er expect this turn.
Despite that, fate would never leave its post.
For our fair maps are always slow to learn,
But time is short to so address this toast.

A solemn prayer for our late vagabond.
A gray memento from a younger fall.
Charisma still does answer from beyond.
For our fine works are in his shadow small.

With love comes patience and the gift of time.
A window darkly breathed the holy light.
For in our elders we can glimpse our prime,
And in their absence we can feel the night.

The daughters weep for times that long since past,
And visions yet stillborn in psyche’s womb.
Alone the Kingdom can forever last,
But blood still flows; a legacy in bloom.

For sweat has long escaped the desert sand,
And all the tools have changed their useful forms.
For when the last of elders cannot stand,
‘Tis children who must brave the coming storms.

The debts we owe have no one left to pay.
Our debtors all have long since run away.
In love we ever honor those who passed,
And pray for wisdom to ignite the past.

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