In Memorium: Richard Cotton Miller

1930 to 1998

Tight Thin Line

I ask no one, not even you, to be here when I die.

Just be a nod away, as in first cry,

my day of delivery long sped by,

through undulating tunnels of joy and despair,

then were you there,

as well you should have been. As was I.

Now, what can we share,

but a private passing, Quiet, I hope, and remote.

Not sad, but ready, and of need, alone.

For where I go you cannot. Where I am, there is no room.

I stand on the line, and its breadth is narrow,

fragile, and tightly thrown.

Lean not toward me, now.

Rather, turn, nod, and from sadness refrain.

Recall on which side I once was, and where you still abide.

Turn and nod, and remember. Then go.

We shall meet again, in time, on the other side.

(C) 1998 Roger W. Bodo

                        The People's Poet TM