In a discipline where the ink is mighty used to
orchestrate issues
A story is told of a man
Whose hands never failed with his ink!
He whose hand was an emblem of truth and honor
The hand that ever shook everyone’s
T’was he that used his ink to project a people, a
race, a culture and a heritage
Though in an often stereotyped discipline
He raised the bar by tackling hard core issues with
dignity
And made name both near and far
Leaving his comrades with diverse emotions
But I envision a man in a web somewhere
For in his discipline
T’was always a battle for survival
And that which is unseen remains such
An entangled piece of web
And
now I behold a man
With
an inkless cold hand
That
all hands now salute on a snowy day!
