John Burr was an extraordinary person. I feel grateful to have known him and learned from him, from the time I was a child. I wrote this poem for his passing:
At A Friend’s Passing
Through the doorway, the summer hour was bright,
When looking out, my young eyes overthrown,
As I waited, my feet outside the white
Wide arc in which the sun had grown,
A ripe orange in my hand, the long, warm day
Behind us and before us at it’s height,
I don’t remember what I tried to say,
Or even if my question came out right,
Only his voice, the long words strong and straight,
Holding up my hand, the fruit half in light,
Half in shade, hoping once to demonstrate,
How Earth turns round and gives us day and night.
From such a friend, could age turn me away,
Whose sight sustained me on that blinding day?