Retrospective Poem by Sheena Blackhall

He'd an Arab tattoo on his shoulder
He'd hair the colour of crow
He was a natural athlete
His hug was a warm glow

His work mates called him a legend
He played golf like a pro
He will never be older than 40
He wasn't your average Joe

He had his anxious moments
Against the current he'd row
He sang like a honeyed lyre
His skin was white as snow

He went too many rounds with trouble
One day he just let go
A large heart stopped its beating
He met Death toe to toe

Now I visit his ashes
Where his dust, with his kin, lies low
I stand six feet above him
And grief's like a hammer blow