This poem was written in Muhammad Ali's house and Muhammad Ali was the first one to hear this poem. And I'm glad Mike Tyson left. His two parts, part one is Ali the fighter. He floated like a butterfly and stained like a bee. The greatest fighter this world has yet to see. His opponents agree on one thing. They all got it right. And the ring without me, your life was in danger that night. Had he lived during the time of Jack Johnson, Joe Lewis, Marcian or Max Smelling, his superiority over all of the former would be telling. Had he fought Tyson a holy fill at the head of his career? On the list of heavyweight champions, their names would not appear. If reindeer could box, he would have fought Donor and Blitzen. If presidents could fight, he would have fought Richard Nixon. For his right was still with power. And his left was relentless. He'd beat people so bad he had to engage in active acts of repentance. So when you discuss who was the greatest heavyweight of all time, to mention any name other than Ali's is a crying. The part two, part two is Ali the man with the grace of a butterfly and the tenacity of a bee. He struck many of blow against injustice and indignity and inequality coming of age during a time of legal segregation. He came to embody the highest values of the nation. Standing up for the truth, defying the warm, mongering, throng, he declared, I ain't got no quarrel with them, Viet Cong. He would not take up the gun. He refused to pull the trigger. He equipped eight no Viet Cong of a car, me nigger, knowing when to attack and when to retreat. He brought an entire nation to his feet, not to cheer for his exploits going down in the ring, but to far right in line with Malcolm and King, willing to give up his title, the money, the lights. He dedicated himself to a higher fight. The fight for truth and justice to liberate lands occupied by the highest court in the land his case would not be denied. With the heart made of gold and a spirit to match, he was able to rebuild his life almost starting from scratch. With the tongue, with the torch of love and the flame of good, he lit the fire of hope in the hearts of many boys and girls in the hood. Not knowing the word I can't, he was never deterred. And because of his example, many a dream was not deferred. On the heart of every life he touched, he left an indelible stamp. And he will always be known as the people's champ. Now, we have to make the prayer. Muhammad Ali's spirit, his body is down, but his spirit is up. And it will stay up as long as we keep it up. And we keep it up as long as we live with the grace and dignity he lived with. As long as we love with the passion he loved with. As long as we share and care and give with the boundless generosity he exemplified. So God, as we leave this hall, as we depart from this August gathering, may we be blessed to love as he loved, to live as he lived, to share as he shared, to care as he cared, to the extent of our various capacities, and to float as freely as he floated. God bless and blessings and peace upon Muhammad. Good evening.