To Donald Sharp
By Thomas Davis
A rain of sunshine through the tattered clouds –
And then he stands there speckled by the light.
A man not yet a child, his spirit crowds
It’s way into a pulsing song in flight
Across the years of heartbeats pumping blood,
Light shining in his eyes, his voice more sky
Than earth, his presence like a dancing flood
Of sunflower gold stirred by a breeze’s sigh.
Born in a rain of light, he travels trails
Where thunderclouds are luminous with storm
And even pain, mortality’s travails,
Are metamorphosed to a time-bound form
Of breath exhaling light into a field
Where spirit born of light becomes life’s yield.
fourwindowspress 
Beautiful poem Tom…………you honor Donald so well. love to you and Ethel. Sayword
These are generous and thoughtful lines, Tom, and a beautiful tribute to the person you are honouring here.
Light, spirit, nature and mortality intertwined, with light and spirit key note. Your skill shines through this tribute,Tom, your personal light and spirit as well as his.
Donald passed a few weeks ago, Ben. I think the world, at least for Ethel and I, is a little poorer. Thanks so much for this comment.