In Memoriam to Eugene Field
Speak softly here where he was laid to rest.
Step lightly where the feet of angels trod
Who bore his spirit Home to meet his God
Who welcomed him, not as a transient guest,
But as a son returning from a quest--
His task completed, where the mundane sod
Was brighter for his flowers of wit; the prod
Of toil a challenge mounting laughter's crest.
His door to childhood, ever left ajar,
Death opened wide; bade all to enter there--
Boy Blue, the angel children, joyously,
Were waiting at the gates lit by a star.
Speak softly! Singing comes--on jasmined-air--
Sweet as the truth of immortality.
Can Heaven be more beautiful than this,
His shrine framed by a garden; the embrace
Of silent peace here in the hallowed place
Where loved ones gently laid the chrysalis
His spirit wore? Across the still abyss
Of death, star-spanned, borne by the tender grace
Of angels, he returned to God, his face
Bearing the record of his earthly bliss.
I think that Heaven's little children came
And climbed upon his knee: his own Boy Blue
And all the rest who romped on Heavenly loam.
Within the Book of Life, he saw his name
Recorded. Then as childish laughter grew,
He felt a deep content and was at home.