I lazy-paged through it when he was done
With it for all eternity and read
His penciled margin notes. Each seventh one
Had misspelled words (e.g., a lead for led).
These savvy days, of course, one should do better
(Although I’m confident no beryl jewels
In his gold crown were compromised). Paul’s letter
Concluded (paraphrasing here) we’re fools
In this world’s eyes, dull dregs who write in square,
Prim capitals, just Eds who nervous-teach
Our fifth-grade Sunday schools, forgetting where
We placed next thoughts. So odd today to reach
Inside my couplet bag—they’re all but gone—
While he’s off somewhere penning a new song.

                                            (In memoriam EWS, 1932–2001)