Lloyd was thirty. My mind holds a picture Of a fourteen year old boy With hair of strawberry-gold. In budding youth, and spoke of life. He was full of boundless energy, unbridled joy Unable to decide from a multitude of possibilities, His life's direction. I heard him say.
Life is so very cruel, People, even crueler.
Inside the cave, The wind howled. The funeral was held that Spring, Father felt I should not attend So, had taken my sister instead. She held no memory of Lloyd, Only spoke of his way of life. Father had gone out of sympathy For his brother. Mother had perched, straining to listen To words that never quite reached the hearing-aid.