And when I wrote, he'd read, and he'd respond.
A twenty-three-year-old can be an ass
But he was kind, and patient, and beyond.
When I was twenty-six, we taught together
And I learned just a little of his ways;
If I can teach, then he was my bellwether
Leading with subtle hints and cautious praise.
When I was thirty-one, we met again
(He gave a talk I managed to attend);
At thirty-two, he sent a card that then
Implied I'd graduated to a friend.
The last I heard of him was that December
And all that I can do now is remember.
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