James C. Keaster Sr.
Did I not know much better than
That angels here may trod;
I'd feel that I, the only man,
Was hugely blessed by God. Your presence makes existence, life.
Your voice attunes my ear.
A calming breeze in times of strife,
A mate without a peer. How oft you've placed yourself at loss
To just supply my whim,
And gave no thought to what it cost.