Nigel, are you grieving
Over one old thread leaving?
Thoughts, like the things of man, you
With fresh words will rhyme, too, can you?
Ah! as your breath grows shorter
You will come to such sounds smarter
Very soon, nor spare a sigh
of the pure air you deny;
And yet you will breathe and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Nonce or formal--all the same.
While you slowly fade, breath bated
What you hoped for is created:
It is you this thread was born for,
It is Nigel whom we mourn for.
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