by Ronald G. Auguste
(In Memoriam: 8/29/72 - 4/23/83)
Daryl, my son, was born a ray of light!
Although his flash upon this Earth was brief,
Resulting in much darkness, and much grief,
You know, he left so much that seems so bright!
Love is one gem he left us on this earth –
Fragrant like flowers in the morning dew;
Resplendent in a way that would imbue
All souls, besides the ones who gave him birth.
No one is born who is not born to die.
Chisel that truth, and etch it into stone!
Idealism just cannot shield the bone!
Summer – His Own – had not yet flushed the sky.
Autumn’s a sunset, colourful, yet grey.
Unto its gladness, Winter will be born,
Grandest of seasons! Moonrise to Spring’s dawn!
Until its pomp, life should be here to stay.
Spring came, and Daryl was a sprightly ten,
Thoughtful and gentle, anxious to begin
Effecting those grand dreams being born within.
My son was born to be peer to all men….
Yet Fate, not being immutable, it seems,
Sometimes is forced take a different bend;
Obliged to tender life an early end;
Negating so much promise, and such dreams.
Daryl, my son, was seventy-two’s relief –
Born to a good beginning, full of light;
Shorn in an early ending, soft and bright;
In eighty-three, he died, and hence the grief.
Last updated June 10, 2014