I love you not by any virtue of my own,
For, you sustain the glory of love, in your kind,
A pilgrim, above Time’s shade, to receive the blow,
With a mind victorious, where truths sprout,
As green grass in mother-earth’s cozy breast,
I worship your soul, so as not you to honor,
But myself take an advantage to be so,
For life missions to cultivate empathy,
And learns, from a mighty, as how to vow.
When your muddy-vesture would no more be visible,
Here, where your foot-prints in Time’s granite-stone,
Be the passage coverage, among the posterity in their moan,
And they would remember you, O Arthur Chapman,
As one who was born to love and serve, knowing no condition,
And then, in their Hearts’ commotion, I spirit may be one.