When autumn strips the fading trees,
And bare boughs bow in colder breeze,
The saints return upon the air,
As names remembered in our prayer.

Another name comes back to me,
Across the years and memory;
And with the faithful gone before,
His name is spoken here once more.

We shared a fragile, borrowed start,
Two tiny lives, two stubborn hearts;
Yet he would grow beyond all bounds,
With laughter, colour, voice, and sounds.

We met when youth and faith burned bright,
And sought to walk within God's light;
Young, hopeful, flawed, and finding space,
To live with honesty and grace.

You filled each room you entered in,
With gossip, theatre, noise, and grin;
Life seemed a banquet laid for you,
And every day a fresh debut.

Then came the sharp and tangled years,
Misunderstandings, wounds, and tears;
A door swung closed, and silence grew,
Till decades stood between us two.

Yet though the friendship ceased to bloom,
It never vanished into gloom;
For some whose paths diverge and part
Still leave an imprint on the heart.

And now I learn you've journeyed on,
Your earthly scene concluded, gone;
The news arrives with quiet pain,
For what might never be regained.

Yet gratitude outweighs regret,
For I remember, not forget;
The tiny ginger-haired young lad
Who grew to be both brave and glad.

Among the saints whose names are read,
Among the blessèd loving dead,
Your name now joins that solemn stream,
Held fast in mercy's endless beam.

So rest, dear Ben, your labour done,
Your final act completed, won;
And may eternal light increase
Around you in the land of peace.

Until that day when all are one,
And every grief is overcome,
I'll speak your name and gladly tell
Of one who lived remarkably well.

Written in memory of Ben Whitehouse, following the alternative eulogy shared by his friend at Jolly Quaker: In Memory of Ben Whitehouse (1979–2025)