I’ll miss my friend, a gentle man.

A Hard Rock miner, tall and strong.

The North shone in his piercing eyes

and laughter played around his lips.

But now he’s gone, he was not young

and soon we all must follow him.

Still we could wish that he had stayed

a while longer in our midst.

 

For there were times to talk about.

And tales of claims upon the Shield,

where men could search to find that place,

that distant grail, the Mother Lode.

His friendship, like a vein of gold,

deep in his soul, a tiny thread.

That gathered those who recognized

the wealth stored in this massive man.

 

Good bye old friend, hard hand, torn nail.

Good bye we’ll miss your strength and nerve.

Good bye to times that fade to dust,

in mines where silence reigns alone.

The Northern Lights will always shine,

where in a dome the sky is deep.

And we will see you in the glow

that brightens up a Winters night.

 
 
David Garlick, Victoria, September 1991