Dear Gary, dear friend…

There’s my favourite image of him, sitting alone in the canteen, fingers pressed together and working at his laptop. WIth all the theatre kids in his heart. Just Gary, humbly intelligent, yet full of warmth and kindness in our simmering climate. No words can express how great your absence is to our work room and our school. Yet great poets do try to evince how great such loss can be … so to my friend, dearly missed amongst all:

Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think’st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroke; why swell’st thou then;
One short sleepe past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

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2 Responses to “Dear Gary, dear friend…”

  1. It’s tough. There was still so much left to get to know, to talk about, to laugh about, to just be.

  2. hello mr ong! remember me?? (:

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