Sam & Bernie

Bernie’s eyes were growing dim
his heart and lungs were failing him
he’d lost his hair and strength to age
but years ago, up on the stage,

he’d make that grand piano sing
just like a lark, those keys would ring,
and 30 years of students passed,
their lives changed by a Spanish class.

Sammy’s eyes were sharp and clear
he’d lost some hair, could barely hear
from radiation, chemo, vials
of pills from all the clinic trials.

He loved his swim and soccer teams,
was full questions, hopes and dreams,
fought that cancer, unafraid,
a superhero in fourth grade.

Sam and Bernie met one day
upon a cloud – they passed away.
Sammy trembled, looking down;
Bernie blinked and looked around

and in a quiet moment there
slowly, they became aware
of each other, as they drifted
gently upwards, gently lifted.

Bernie asked the kid his name;
Sammy told him, asked the same
and each could tell the other’s eyes
were kind and soft and warm and wise.

Bernie’d had no kids, no wife,
and Sam’d been sick for half his life;
“I wonder” Bernie said aloud,
“what luck this is – to share this cloud.”

“Maybe it’s not luck,” Sam said,
“to share this cloud – I guess I’m dead -
and mama told me that there’d be
an angel here, waiting for me.”

“I’m no angel,” Bernie grinned,
“just an old man, at his end.
Actually, thought you might be
an angel too, waiting for me.”

Bernie winked and Sammy smiled;
Bernie’s hand reached for the child
who took it softly in his own,
grateful they were not alone -

and that is how they headed for
the open arms of evermore -
hand in hand, as on they drifted,
gently upwards, gently lifted.


for my friends, sam (2000 – 2010) and bernie (1924 – 2010),
with love.