My Brother

FOR SIGURD

Written on the plane, on September 8, 1969, carrying me to my last visit with my brother.

There was the mountain

Its peak of solid gold

Dipped in the dying sun –

There was the valley

Its bed of meadowland

And forests green

And silver ribbons – streams

There was the Man

The wanderer of darkened valleys

The conqueror of golden peaks

The Man who always smiled and lived for joy

And dreamed of life

And always lived in happiness

Who always lived in happiness so all engulfing

As the light itself when noon was high

Who touched his fellow man

And spoke directly to his soul

And made him share the happiness

Which bubbled from his smile.

The conqueror of golden peaks

Who brought the gentle light

Down to the darkest valleys

There was the Man

Who roamed the valleys,

Climbed the jagged peaks

And gave his helping hand

To any fellow wanderer

Who stood alone and said: “I can no more”

“Oh yes you can”---

The quick and gleaming smile—

the gentle tug

and freedom once again and golden peaks

as far as eyes can roam.

This final peak

Forbidding in its height and shrouded

In a cloud so black

It suffered light no more

And no man knows what valley lies beyond

“Don’t cross this mountain, Man

don’t cross this peak

to which I cannot follow”

I cry in vain

I am too late.

They tell me, though,

They caught a glimpse of you

And as you looked upon the dale beyond –

They say

You smiled

And went

And for my cries the echo is no more

And so my tears flow uselessly

And no more sun to dry them.