He was once in this house and I went to see his plays
And laughed at his labored puns and afterwards toasted life
And then we went our separate ways
And I mainly stayed in touch with his excellent wife.
An old friend, she said he continued to produce
Despite a host of maladies and a shaking hand
Words, if not for the ages, then at least for us to adduce
That he’d visited here and he was our friend
Then the virus swept in, she wrote, and took his breath away
And, oddly, she was more at peace than I
With my vain words against age and time, with my puny mission
I protested long life should never be considered an underlying condition
No, she said, they called at three a.m..
The ventilator no longer helped, it was the end
We lost Joel, whom I had wanted to know well
That’s why this is a story I had to tell
Ted Littleford