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Eulogy for Jeremy, my Friend who died too young

by Mary Margaret Park

Dread locks


Accross the USA

maiden voyage

explore and toilage

working when he could

Many people he did meet upon fallow roads of grey

and dusty paths on forest floors often paved his way

Summer beaches

meeting friends and strangers

barefoot in the sand

the path less traveled was his guide and

his truest friend

From sand to shore to deserts deep

where shadows grew so long

He huddled round a blazing fire to simulate a home

Concerts crazy, rock n band, in bergs and cities too

Where moonshine shone to river form in bluest mournes and Scottish moors

Free spirits never die for they are tethered by the air

Where spontaneous built its shrine as if it were never there

For Jeremy, along with fellow travelers; friends and foes alike, spirits climbed

building portico's of shade and sultry sun.

Shrines of nature to mother earth where 'well met' meant 'well done'.

Mother earth was his guide on higways coast to coast

Like a skate board oubound in the wind - with silent

delight he set the wheels to spin, thus saddled with the grace

of God a grin defied his chin

Like beaches blue or green or pools

the water was his 'shed'.

The winds of change don't tame the waves

they mount in frothy caps oer' head

His journey a voyage

to trade on island winds

North, South, East, and West

Surfboard in hand, he'd roll up all his 'sleeves'

to ride the curls of oceans deep with purest of delight

to watch him skate amoung the wind and waves

was beauties truest sight

Many people he did meet on fellow roads both grey and green.

Yet forests' pungent with wonders' loam most oft paved his way.

Along his path lay ancient roads where many people toiled;

passion that belies the spoken word will always be Kings

truest foil.

Filled to the brim with life's discoveries, when we're all alone

the tender mercy's of wonder and grace remain the deepest

roots of hearth and home.

From sand to shore to deserts deep where shadows grow so long,

he was pleased to have a place to 'pop a squat' amoung friends and rest

his weary bones.

As they huddled round the blazing fire, the road that had grown so very long

and dreary

receded back...


T'was around a fire ringed in ancient boulders that rose above the restless unrelenting sand

that he came to know a 'wonkey' 3-stringed guitar, this gift was from a friend.

With trembling hands he lit the strings and frets in vibrant tones

and once again, reunited son and song

He wrote of earth, of stars, and of the moon to shine the silverlight of his

purest emotion's spring

and with his innocence, the night parted, and thus so bowed, in deepest shadowed motion

The mystery of the minstrels song moves between the grains of time

and has no bounds, yet surely carries the truer truth; emotion's sough

On ancient oaths and roads he tread upon the morning dew, as shadows rose

to meet his feet along narrow shafts of light; only to turn their favour into

the dappled shades of dusk

And so it goes

and so it goes

so in God we trust

Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust, my friend

May you rest in peace.

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