Two years ago, we lost Tim O’Hara–
My brother-in-law.
My friend.
Some losses can’t be replaced.
Tim’s Dad knew that, by the tens,
Each ten a B-17 crew lost in spiderwebs of flak,
Their missions interrupted,
In the same bright flash
That finally empties all our lives.
[The squadron is never the same,
And some holes can’t be filled.
I know that, from a lifetime of shoveling.]
But some men
Grow up with hearts so strong,
That they beat long after
Their own life’s mission is done.
Their hearts beat still in the lives
Of all who knew them.
Tim’s heart was like that–
Listen.
A Work in Progress 