The little I know, the little I’ve read
contrasts with the vast literature you penned;
but I see you in moments, in that said
simply, the ornaments of rhythm and sound
a playing to the crowd, the only role
availing, what in paraphrase was truth
and love, the fame and glamour of the world
crowd out, that in Christ raised the cross forsooth,
you retained in humility, a man
of few words, and in those late photographs
repose; would we thus our allotted span
achieve, this your lasting bequest to us;
though to minds that never grasped the import
of it, you are unique, above their sort.
