buried
six feet below,
his corpse has turned to dust—
returned to the elements, life
renews
his face,
once familiar,
blossoms as Spring flowers—
his well kept gardens, free from weeds,
profuse
precise
word images
shaped as cinquain, haiku,
sonnets, sijo—songs of the heart,
bold verse
he peered
into the depths
of our souls, probing words
that sing with radiant insight,
poems
his thoughts
etched forever
in words that will be read
ages and ages hence, artful
beauty
