This poem was read at the funeral of R. P. Lister earlier this year by a close friend, Meg Campbell.
Sometime this year I shall be 95
And still it is a joy to be alive!
To walk, to talk, to think, drink, to sneeze,
Is there, my friends, a great joy than these?
Sit by me, I will tell you a tale
There is, my friends, one joy that does not fail.
It is no sin, it ask for no forgiving
It simply is the simple joy of living.
One may be tired or hungry or in debt,
Any yet, my friends, do not forget
That whether we falter, fail or thrive
It is a privilege to be alive.
Do not be said, rather raise a cheer
For the peculiar face that we are here.
There is still time to laugh or cry in
And there is all infinity to die in!
R. P. Lister (2009)