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The RW who usually performs the Masonic Funeral service for my one lodge adds this poem -
In My Father's Mansion
It is not cold beneath the grasses,
Nor close-walled within the tomb;
Rather, in my Father's mansion,
Living, in another room.
Nearer than the one who loves me,
Like yon child with cheeks abloom,
Out of sight, at desk or Schoolbook,
Busy, in another room.
Nearer than the youth whom fortune
Beckons where the strange lands loom;
Just behind the hanging curtain,
Serving, in another room.
Shall I doubt my Father's mercy?
Shall I think of death as doom,
Or the stepping o'er the threshold
To a bigger, brighter room?
Shall I blame my Father's wisdom?
Shall I sit enswathed in gloom,
When I know my Love is happy
Waiting, in another room?
Robert Freeman
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We must all go through a rite of passage. It must be physical, it must be painful, and it must leave a mark.
I have no knowledge of the events which you are describing, and if I did have knowledge of them,
I would be unable to discuss them with you now or at any future period.
 
Don't waste your time always searching for those wasted years
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