FOR BRUCE

The fires are out,
And banked for the next days work.

But no one will come today.

The anvil is silent and the hammers are waiting,
For the master's steady hand.

But no one will come today.

The tongs are ready to hold the work,
For the master's steady hand.

But no one will come today.

I wait for my master's voice.
His fiery wit, his steady smile,
His ability to touch my heart and soul.
His ability to teach.

But he will not come today,
For my master died today.

I know the tools miss him much.
His sure, strong swing. His skillful touch.

But all I can say is,
For this lowly apprentice.
Bruce was more than a master.
He was my friend.

I miss my friend very much.