Reb. Mench
In memory of Simon Cohen
We roll our toys away
among the hazy hilltops . . .
The day does not clear;
the treatise has been drawn and hung.
And yet, yesterday we remembered to play.
You taught us that playing was an adult thing also,
A vibrant echo of the world unchanged
Without the snowy music's failings
A world starving for compassion and
a loose-leaf binder.
If it was what we knew was inadequate
then what we know is too reckless
bound to erase itself in ceaseless morass.
And yet, yesterday we remembered to sing.
You taught us that singing was a holy
thing, and the melodies you spun
unlocked the great Temples of ancient days
as if they were unaged and fresh.
It was your voice that taught us
Page 13 (Black Book: Light Heart)
|
|
|
|
