Remembering S.W.B. (1949-2013)
Two years today Chris was taken.
Like a shuttle in lace-makers' fingers
the thread has flown, the bubble burst.
Time ended when sand that had lingered
trickled too fast as the hourglass upturned.
Like a ripple moving its last on the lake
the song is sung, the swan is now gone.
Ink dried when he became past, forsaken
the writing blurred and versing was done.
Like a battle begun by stalwart hands
the race had been run, the passion is cold.
Hearts wept as courage made its last stand
and the story of Lost-in-France became told.
