Jack Rubin Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

Rare was the spirit that has passed away,
Unfit the pen which inks its paper praise,
But few remain who knew him well. Time slays.
Insignificant our life, short Death's delay.
Now only his good works unite to say
Jack was both just and generous! His ways
Allied warmth, charm and acumen in phase,
Concern for others, loyalty. Yet may
Kindliness, philanthropy, dismay,
Rewards requiring, glitter, surface glaze.
Uncommon is the man whose many days
Bear witness with a beacon's constant ray.
In wit and sunny wisdom life he met,
Nor can one man more fair example set.