To Albe Julius Meiers

 

To Albe Julius Meiers, A Tribute

On His Ninety-First Birthday

And A Eulogy That We Get To Watch Him Hear

By Teak Kilmer

September 12, 2010

 

 

 Albe has lived life fulfilled, fulfilled of ham and chicken wings

two hours taken breakfasting of victuals myriad, bold and bolstering

Chewing he could teach to cows, but chew he must to swallow things

A cause methinks of his longevity, and since he eats just anything

that sates his palette, rich and sweet in amounts bewildering

for a man of such shallow verticality and slight of height he brings

 

Humor fills him too and us in amusements by wit and behaviors oft astonishing

hung up in downspouts, bicycle and trash can tricks, in these for us a Fairy King

anyone in front of him would soon be his pal; he’d know about them nearly everything

even more than food he has appreciated and been most excellent at chattering

a man of gratitude and joy despite life challenges and depression’s urgings

He grew up full of wonder, trusting, playful; friends and girlfriends comforting

 

also filled with dedication to his callings, to his duty to community kindly laboring

charitable with what he’s had, faithful that God’s hand would his own be favoring

with ample quantities of his necessities, as his heart would be in family gatherings

family, family anythings: soirees, parties, picnics, trips and photos of for garnishing

Oh, and fishing, fishing with the boys and golfing, fishing, eating fish and fishing  

and how a friend and dad to me he’s been: patient, loving, and so dearly understanding

 

I’m proud to say he’s one of my best friends; his firm hugs and gentle presence dallying

and so eager with his interest in my welfare, my healing and his love unwavering

even in my darkest hours and greatest agitations, no judgments, just compassioning

prayers without ceasing for my regeneration and indeed for all in need he’s praying

Albe holds a subtle and unmistakable wisdom and often cleverness in daily dealings

though at times one could wonder about a streak called stubborn that could leave us muttering

 

especially when before him a problem stood and persist he would in what was not working

but I must tell you, friends, that these minor bewilderments of his sainthood diminishing

have slipped away and are no more, and so canonize him we may have to, rapturing

him through the Pearly Gates gilded in the love he gave to God, to us and all unfaltering

and only after God he’s loved and honored and obeyed and been guided into venturing

by his dear Shirley into whose arms and angels’ hugs he’ll one day eternally be ‘rascalling’