#606 On Your Flag at Half-Mast

In the end, the only thing left of you
Were your ashes, neatly wrapped up in urn;
The pictures, sepia-toned, scattered on tables
As your ex-colleagues and friends took turns 
To give bad speeches and recount feeble
Recollections, probably not all of them true. 

I never really knew you, and could only recall
One conversation that we ever had; something
About the economy or global affairs. Mostly
I think of your final years of hard suffering;
The years that cancer took from you; all
That time when Time was ebbing away, swiftly. 

I hope you've found your peace, at last,
Our hearts now fly your flag, half-mast.