I was young then, a student. It was night.
The gym was filled with light. I ducked in.

I heard him before I saw him,
   the words rolling and reeling,
      dancing figures and
         singing melodies,
   he, a tall gaunt figure, already old.
He was a poet, the real thing, my first.

Now, fifteen years later, he is dead,
Covered with honors, as with lilies.