He saw the fields of young wheat,
But never ate the bread,
He saw the Sun rise
In the Spring,
By Autumn he was dead.

The ageing light was not to be,
Not for him the twilight years,
Winter will be ours alone,
To remember, and conquer our fears.

Some measure a man by his learning,
By letters, diplomas, awards,
Such men may be great, or destructive,
My brother made ploughshares from swords.

His friends performed the Haka,
An honour they said was his right,
A Chief amongst men of all nations,
A blazing flash of light.

You lit the match,
That started the flame,
Extinguished too soon,
But the warmth will remain.

Jaza will see the wheat ripen,
Cortez will taste the fresh bread,
The rafters will ring with their laughter,
And Karl will rest well in his bed.

July 1998