Saturday, August 31, 2013


Game Over. Or so it seems.
Tommy Murphy is outraged;
“It isn’t fair” he screams.
Once again the result is staged,
Yet we execute each play:
Run, cut, fake and catch the Pass.
Another Cereal Bowl in the books on a fine Autumn day
With time left over to go to 5 o’clock Mass.
In the cold grey dawn,
The rules are never disputed.
Like Kennedys on the lawn;
Roses are red, Weeds are rooted,
In the end it doesn’t matter if you win.
All the world is a stage;
The play is the thing;.
The best of times at such an age.
It’s how you play the game you see;
No effort goes unrewarded, stay on the field.
What happens under the Buckeye tree,
You think isn’t fair but in time it may be revealed;
In Shoreway seminars to and from Edgewater Drive,
Or in Reading the newspaper before you arrive,
Or between those hours - Nine until Five.
Between the hours of nine and five.
Type, Keyline, Flap and Tissue,
Caxton Building loading dock
Delivered right, that’s the issue.
East Side, West Side all around the clock
Attention to production and design,
Annual Reports arrived last night.
Photography and Illustration with a fine line
Because of Jim, the job is done right (and on time).
We are the dreamers of dreams 
And we cherish each moment as it goes by.
Life is too short but the legacy lives in the gleams
Of Sons and Daughters who wonder why
The great man passes.  
Murph was right: It isn’t fair.
The great man passes.
Bang! All of us were there

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