Battalions of books
stood to dusty attention
on their rough sawn shelves
of mission brown.
Piles of papers
from eager undergraduates
teetered in unsteady piles
all over the house.
Meters of CDs
wallpapered your study
awaiting your daily dose
of Beethoven or Brahms.
Your behavior was eccentric,
your language academic,
your brilliance knew no boundaries,
your kindness overwhelmed.
Romantic and incorrigible,
you were Irish to the bone.
A mix of Marx and Milligan,
your lunacy touched my soul.
You died too young, my love -
cancer doesn’t discriminate.
The children carry your genes,
rather gracefully, it seems to me.
Alison Cassidy
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-children-carry-your-genes/
