April 12, 1999
and knew your face was in the breeze.
The sorrow of both your son and mother's death,
blown free now at your death.
As I walk now among familiar things and places,
I see now what you were saying in your "farmboy way."
That beauty and love are hard-won prizes,
That concealed beneath homely faces,
there is a still-life watercolor
that any life, no matter how obscure,
can rise to grandeur.
And so did you, my brother,
by God's grace
attain to that princely race.