In Memory of
Philip Robinson Fenimore
February 11, 1949-September26, 1997
A poem by his father
ON A BLACK HORSE
My son rode away from us on a black horse
the dreamer told me,
And I was gladdened when the dreamer said
their course was toward the heavens.
We were gathered round my son when the pale
rider came to summon him,
And we all sensed that Death was there and
had ridden away when the rasping breaths
had stopped and a look of peace
Settled on the face that we all loved, the face
That up to then had only shown long suffering.
When the pale messenger had left our midst,
My son's wife and his mother bathed him lovingly,
And then the undertakers came and gently as they could,
for they were friends,
Took his earthly form away to practice their necessary arts.
After his funeral, after all the hymns were
sung and the words were said, after the
piper had piped him to his resting place,
after his ashes had been committed to the ground,
The dreamer came to me and told me of the
black horse that had galloped skyward
carrying my son.
From the churchyard we all went home
To do what my son would have us do-
The dreamer told us my belief was true-
We celebrated his life for the remainder of the day.
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