The Dale I Knew
-- ©2001 by Carol Tallman Jones
Dale R. Luby, Robert Dale, Dale Robert...all professed.
He wouldn't be concerned, I think, with which we thought was best.
For the paper trail he left on earth's not what Dale was about.
Mattered more we walked beside him; it's that, I think, he'd count.
To see a child laugh and share a gentle touch or word
was all he asked for on this earth...no matter what you've heard.
A nice hot cup of coffee; a chocolate cookie once in a while;
An ice cold beer, and with it, a companion's glowing smile.
Topping off a good hot meal with a relaxing chat and smoke;
to mow and manicure his lawn; to fix what might be broke.
Dancing in the kitchen to a favorite country tune...
these little things the man enjoyed, I pray he'll do in Heaven soon.
Oh, we've seen that Irish temper get the best of him, God knows.
And he didn't claim perfection along the path of life he chose.
But doesn't that seem long ago to all who gather here?
The Dale I knew was not a saint, but held no grudges dear.
A simple man with simple taste enjoying simple pleasure,
he signed his name many ways, but a name was not his measure.
The measure of the Dale I knew is that he tried his best.
And if some think he failed, well...he didn't know it was a test.
I can't believe it matters much which was his "legal" name.
He'd go along with what you'd like and Dale would not complain.
And I don't know which one is true and I don't really care.
When you record your earthly book, just say: