Nov. 26, 1993
They telephoned to say he was no more.
The laughter at the supper table died – no one said a word
and then the sounds came haltingly.
Last night – Gandalf was his name. The Grey Eminence.
Gandalf the Grey Wizard (thanks to Tolkien).
Each of us had different thoughts.
Yours, my son, the deepest and the saddest,
for with Gandalf went your youth – walks to the river,
racing along the banks, grabbing stones from under water.
How you could jump Gandi. You went up from all four legs,
like a jumping jack.
You were the best – so big, but so gentle.
Except those few times you went on a rampage
and there wasn’t enough left of the neighbor’s chickens
even to make a stew.
How frightened you were of fireworks, of bangs in general,
It went with your mild nature.
Another thread of the past has been cut.
No more future, only the past.
Remember the times –
the time you got caught in the fence
trying to get out of your run
and find refuge in the cellar
when the sky was filled with fireworks?
The times you disappeared –
only to turn up, again, in the cellar.
You had grown old, Gandalf.
Your teeth were worn, and so was your heart.
It just stopped beating.
Gandalf the Grey. The love we bear you in our hearts
is reason enough for your having lived.
May you rest in peace and remain always in our thoughts.