In the room where he lay, the streaming yellow sun beckoned
The death angel held fast, an account to be reckoned
We gathered in earnest, our goodbyes would be tendered
What kind of man was Frank, how should he be remembered?
Was he the sort that put himself first, or did he bless lives of others?
Was civilization left unpaid, or did he touch the souls of his brothers?
Frank wasn’t complex like the mechanized parts of a grandfather clock
He was simple, honest and gentle; he would listen before he would talk
He offered us his strengths, though his cruel impairments were daunting
In navigating the path of life’s challenge, his family was never left wanting
Through the life blood of his children his values are a beacon living
Frank taught them by example to be understanding, strong and forgiving
He was a Midwestern boy who experienced loss; but never lost his direction
For those he cared for the world felt right while under his protection
For his beloved wife Catherine he would have gladly lassoed the moon
Instead there were fifty years of devotion and sharing ice cream with a spoon
When he saw his grandchildren his soulful eyes beamed with illumination
He made time for horses and kitties; and for school kids he offered fair ration
If you stand here today, you have only started to comprehend his worth
We rejoice he is with his beloved father, though he leaves behind this earth
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