Like any life you began at conception:
you never asked to be here;
two lives met, love sparked,
passion exploded, you made.
At an early age you fell in love with the pages.
People said you were destined for greatness.
But as life would have it,
you tried but now you are dying,
even though greatness beckons, come.
We saw how you gripped the curtain,
while taking your last look at the garden.
Your countenance glowed,
as if some mysterious being
showed you a sign of hope.
Friends that visited the hospice
said you were not a religious man;
but we knew you saw something
or someone through the window pane.