These are the last tears I will cry for my friend, Lex. He would want it that way. He's probably shaking his head, wondering what all of the wailing and gnashing of teeth is all about. So into the box and onto the shelf it goes.
He was the one that properly turned me on to Yeats so I'll leave you with "The Wild Swans at Coole" - a fitting selection (thanks Kanani) though I wonder if "The Wild Old Wicked Man" might not be more apropos...
The Wild Swans at Coole
BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS
The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine-and-fifty swans.
The nineteenth autumn has come upon me
Since I first made my count;
I saw, before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount
And scatter wheeling in great broken rings
Upon their clamorous wings.
I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All's changed since I, hearing at twilight,
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.
Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.
But now they drift on the still water,
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake's edge or pool
Delight men's eyes when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?
I teased him once about his preference for Yeats - Irish poets tend to be so...morose. He said his Irish heritage demanded it. I laughed and said maybe that explains my inner turmoil...I've been denying that which was demanded by my heritage. Who knew?He said no thanks were necessary for that one..."And if you’re wondering whether you can buy me a beer, the answer is yes. Yes, you can." So I did and it was worth every damned penny.
Requiescat in pace, my friend.