Passing time has no memory in his light
For he is the leafless tree midsummer…
The dark, emptiness we feel has replaced absence.
In physical, there is no light for us…
Only bleak…

He bears no guilt, nor fault in his played part,
Farewell was but an accident…Temporary…Permanent…
Only a child with spilled milk.
His light so pure, so bright, so clear, Unadulterated.

The day of solemn, was grave and mirthless.
But he saw and grinned
The dreary desolate day shed light…
Only with us did he spread his merriment.
Only with those who had his teeming soul in their weary spirits…

Passing time has no meaning in his light, But his light passes us so that we are reminded, one day, we will be with him again.