With the orders to Germany I knew that it was over
He would not stay in touch despite my grasping almost begging
The teaching years, the insurance years, the Quaker years, the chaplaincy years;
I guess it was just too much change to track.
Yet, my friend tells me I startled on learning of his death or at least turned a little white.
Ray was a word smith who could teach 'flow theory' in a few sentences.
He spoke of: 'The burden of an unlimited potential.'
He gave the paper used to run for student body president
and never betrayed a word of shadow when I lost.
We shared more than one deep love.
I think the marriage failures killed him and a soul
that was not into selling groceries.
I wish him well where ever he has gone
Perhaps God will grant us a reunion.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem