The Voice

A voice went silent, once and for all, today.
Probably not a voice you ever heard,
Nor words you ever were meant to understand,
But a voice, nevertheless.

It was a voice I often heard, and not often enough,
Made harmony and counterpoint to match.

And the voice had a face. And the face was rarely
Without the smile that characterized the face
In every memory of it that I can recall.

And it is strange how the voice and the face,
Now in fact gone from the world we know,
Is still present.

I hear the voice.
I see the face.

I return its smile
As though the voice and the face
were here now.

And thus, for me, it will ever be.

Rest in peace, Robert F. Leng.


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