Impossible
that death should finally KO
The Greatest.
We thought he’d be here
always – older and slower, yes,
but still with that smile
lurking in his eyes.
But he taught us
nothing is impossible.
He said that. He showed us,
living his life
on his own terms.
Ah, but death
sets its own terms too.
Ali is already
two and a half weeks gone,
with his dancing feet
and his stinging fists,
his wicked words
and his beauty …
his proud head, even in age.
The people of his home
say they remember
a child who never gave up,
they remember the young hero,
and most of all they recall
the private years
of a kind, wise old man.
The early dark comes down.
It’s winter solstice here.
We are already a little past
full moon. Brightness
waxes and wanes,
but the good
don’t always die young.
Written for the latest Tuesday Platform at 'imaginary garden with real toads'. We were asked if we had written anything on the passing of Muhammad Ali. I hadn't – I thought Gail Hennessy's tribute said it perfectly, and far more economically than this – but, since we were invited....
