What might I pen to scribe your epitaph…

That you of truth and beauty were the same,

That you embrace most everything I lack

And burn in virtue like a hallowed flame?

What ink pays tribute to a living art

That even noble hands would strive to frame?

What proof could I in paltry words impart

And so in honored praise exalt your name?

Who now could well believe this poet’s hand—

What pen could here unfathomed depths so plumb,

That voice in cursive truths might ever stand,

Here now and for that kingdom yet to come?

In peerless love I here enshrine your grace,

That prayer blessed lines your many wonders trace.