The masters Hem

**The Master’s Hem*

The calendar turned a leaf, crisp and new,

A fresh yard of fabric assigned just to you.

We gathered the threads of "happy" and "long,"

To weave you a mantle, to sing you a song.

But the Great Architect, with a needle of light,

Was finishing stitches hidden from sight;

He saw that the pattern was perfectly spun,

That the suit of your spirit was finally done.

How strange, that the dawn of your earthly arrival

Should blend with the dawn of your grander revival.

You waited to see the first light of the year,

To taste one last vintage of love and of cheer,

Before stepping out of the clothes made of clay,

To dress in the silk of an eternal day.

It wasn't a breaking, or a life cut in two,

But a seamless transition from the old to the new.

The soul simply knew that its journey was told,

As the new year broke open in ribbons of gold.

You stood at the summit, the climb was complete,

With the world in your wake and the stars at your feet.

You celebrated here, then you celebrated there,

Rising like incense, like a finished prayer.

Happy Birthday to a soul that proved too vibrant for a single world.

You saw the dawn of your day, then traded the sunrise of Earth for the light of the stars.

Though the chair is empty, the story is complete.

Happy New Year in the arms of the Architect.