A stillness after masterful music.
The orchestra as one lays their instruments down.
The crowd swoons in a hush, each heart paused to reflect,
This death is dear.
What he left us is beyond measure,
beyond the course of suns bouncing from solar system to galaxy,
as an electron’s jump belies a changing state,
further than the terrible fears of the October People come again
further than the strange electric smell of lions on the veldt.
We honor your Murderer, and your Firemen.
We’ve learned to respect butterflies, especially those very old.
There are Rocket men out there, trailing comets just as lonely.
And we promise to name the first high school on Mars after you.
Some will know your name and weep.
Some will hear it for the first and maybe read some of your paragraphical
genius.
Their hearts are the lucky ones, for they discover a new joy,
and need not mourn your passing away.
Regards regards regards,
Good night, Mr. Bradbury, Ray.
