My Rosicrucian friend

held the esoteric key

to second sight.

He was a lone bright star

that roamed the night sky

looking after those he loved.

He had no fear

of Billy Bob’s birds,

ominous black crows

that squawked around

his back yard.

Light on his feet,

with a perpetual smile,

he could dance all night

and sing you to sleep.

He never complained

and routinely explained

when asked how he felt:

“Perfect!, “ he’d exclaim.

He claimed his wellbeing

was due to a diet of berries,

veggies, fruit, nuts, sprouts,

and wheat-grass juice.

He did what made him happy:

Jigging in schools of mackerel

firing through the sea.

He never stopped loving

his much younger wife,

doing what made her happy.

Even if in much later years,

with the aid of Viagra,

it wiped the smile off his face.