An Old Soul, passing through life, liked what he saw and decided to stay. Though everyone knew he was just passing through, this for-a-while child put down roots. And his branches grew high, and his shadow fell wide, and his quiet strength touched many lives.
A gentle spirit, deep roots of love held him fast as his branches shook and trembled. The winds of time, for us a breeze, were for this Old Soul a cyclone. And all too soon the branches snapped; the trunk was felled, and the old soul was free once more.
Now harsh light falls on those who had lived in his shade, and it hurts, for he has gone. But his roots are as deep as his branches were high, and they grow in those who love him. And his enemy, Time, cannot reach him now, and his roots will grow deeper and wider.
Goodbye, Jackanory - it's not only your parents who miss you,