At A Time Of National Mourning Poem by Bill Grace

When death comes
and words no longer roll from pen
still I will sing
in some choir far away
from where I spent undergraduate days
and was asked in no uncertain terms
not to sing at all.

Such is heaven for
and earth forfeit
where we were bad
folks all too glad
to tell us where we didn't measure up.

In my youth Father Cleary talked of heaven
now he is there
his vision a little much for me now,
hope I am wrong as I've been wrong before,
and will see the dear fellow again
far beyond New York borders.