Just some thoughts:
Years ago as a teenager I remember standing outside the Fidler-Woods funeral home in Farmersburg, Indiana.
I was standing around a bunch of the “old” men who had gathered outside havin’ a smoke. They were there to pay their respects to a very good friend of each of them and a friend to the community who had died. As a young boy I remember one of the men, as he took a drag off his Lucky Strike, saying: “You know, you can’t never bury a good man.” Later as I grew older I came to understand the real meaning of what he said.
No friend we love can ever die;
The outward form may disappear
I know that all my friends are nigh
Whenever I am moved to tears
And when my strength and hope are gone,
The friends, no more, than once I knew
Return to cheer and urge me on
Just as they always used to do
They whisper to me in the dark
Kind words of counsel and of cheer
When hope has flicker to a spark
I feel their gentle spirit near
And Oh, because of them I strive
With all the strength that I can call
To keep their friendship still alive
And to be worthy of their all.
Death does not end our friendship true,
We all are debtors to the dead;
They, wait on everything we do
The splendid souls who’ve gone ahead
To them I hold that we are bound
By double pledges to be fine,
Who once has had a friend has
The link between mortal and divine.
Should any of Marcellas’s children ever ask him: “What have you done with with your life?” With assurance Marcellas could tell them:
“What have I done with my/your life/
and I tell them I have tried.”
A week ago tonight I learned of the passing of my friend, Marcellas.
“You can’t bury a good man.”
June 1, 2020
Reply Reply All Forward