Bereft I am, my saints have all but died;

No longer there, exemplars of the years

Magnificently lived in spite of fears,

Sustained by grace, mature and sanctified.

Revered departing comrades whom we hide

From view as reputation disappears.

Approached, illusions fade, the mirage clears,

Destroyed by looks of our censorious pride.

No more acclaimed with reverential awe

Their feet of clay collapse in public view,

And we are left a fellowship that ends

With saints transformed, to share the joy much more

Enriched relationships now born anew

In him who came in flesh, and calls us friends.

November 1982