The Falling Star Poem by Christopher Howie

There was once a man
Who guided us all.
His name was Wise Dan.
We heeded his call.

Kindness was his tool,
But he was no fool.
At heart, he was shrewd.
But never was he rude.

His mind was so sharp
His wit, it could stab.
But much like a harp,
Could any soul he'd grab.

But for all his worth,
And his hearty mirth.
Of chinks, there was one
That would make him done.

Oh, how he would boast.
'Heaven itself will
Be made, to us, toast.'
His will was our will.

His virtue was true,
And as if on cue
We would follow him
No matter his whim.

Our love, it was his.
He was like our king,
He could never miss.
The world was his ring.

But it was for naught,
He would soon be caught.
One day, he would boast
'If you are the host,

Of it all, then prove!
Prove your truth, o' Lord!
Show us, I behoove!
Give me cause to hoard! '

At once, lightning struck.
The bolt it did pluck
Our Wise Dan from Earth.
Our souls felt the dearth.

What Lord would do that,
To a good fellow?
No tip of the hat,
For one so mellow.

Today, still I wonder.
My mind does ponder.
But still do I love.
Wise Dan, that poor dove.

His heart was true pure,
And his love was all.
He could be the cure
Had God not the gall.