By Karla Gregory
How still it stands.
Folds of dark cloth and a bit of bright braid.
Encased beyond the reach of our hands,
But not beyond our hearts.
It may be another's possession,
But know we all, that there is but one,
To whom this finery belongs.
And it is his forevermore.
With such style and grace
Indelibly is the image
In its youth, grand events unfolded,
A smile that outshone the sun.
But now, how still it stands,
But we remember.
Thanks to Kathy G. for sharing the picture which inspired the poem.
Did it clothe his comely frame,
On no other man
Emblazoned on each heart.
That the man for whom this suit was made
Was born to play the part.
Worn by the man for whom it was made.
A tyrant pricked, a senorita loved,
A song upon a guitar softly played.
And eyes that missed nothing.
A heart that was brave and true.
These were his for the sharing.
This dark cloth, with its braid so bright.
For the man who gave it life,
From this earth has taken his flight.
We shall not forget.
Though it stands now quiet and stilled,
It lives on in each of us yet.
