I think about you now and then,
a smile on my face
and hope you’re running free, my friend,
with classic Richie grace

or dancing on a fresh-cut lawn
to upbeat oldie tunes,
not caring if the world looks on–
to judgment, you’re immune.

I’m sure your whoops of simple joy
are heaven’s favorite tolls–
endearing is the singsong voice
that echoes in my soul

so savor your eternal feast
and endless mugs of ale–
especially the sips you thief
from Christ’s own holy grail.

Until we reunite once more,
I’ll use your echoed cues
and not be such a dreadful bore–
it’s happiness I choose.