Goodbye Mr. Whitman
Companions these three years
You dead and singing your leaves
Me dead and singing my own verse
The two of us banging on the pipes
Tapping out messages across a century
What an odd classroom
A dead teacher that cannot hear
And a sleeping student that cannot speak
You’ve led me down this path
With more to read and say and sing
I round the corner out of sight
Wave thanks and love to a master
Your deadman’s patience
Your poet’s eye
Turning I wonder, am I your fancy?
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Good-Bye My Fancy!“)
Life Immense 