He straddled continents
and countries
and oceans
and time,
With clear eyes
and big dreams
and whispered hopes
of change
and tradition.
He was last.
He was first,
and strode through centuries
Seeing the turn of revolutions,
the flare of war
the startlement of peace;
Witnessing the birth of nations
and the death of ideals.
He found eternity
in the eyes of his children
And grace
in the heart of his bride
And God
in sweet wine
and gentle flickerflames
and sun-kissed horizons
of sacred nights
and holy days.
Holy, holy, holy.
Zichrono liv'racha
May his memory be for a blessing
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