Death of  Valentine.    (1979.)

Never precisely with his path established for attainment
of his vainer dreams, he was still persistently trying
to fly as high as his faltering wings could manage,
while scanning the parched landscape for suitable oases.
Chasing the tender touch and encouraging smile,
where a file on sympathy is ever ready for additions,
his mission was to claim their exclusive attention, while delving
(in self-deprecatory fashion) into memories.
Attempting constant endearment, he half succeeded,
while needing his tipple or two along the way:
afraid of failure and yet bravely determined
to earn his way - or switch out the lights.

We loved him each in our own special way,
but not enough to make him want to stay.