Taylor Greeson was a good man. A man pure of heart, strong of spirit, and keen of wit. His loves and losses were legendary, as were the products of his fertile imagination. Often times, we would joke about past triumphs over a good beer. Well, he would drink the beer. Lots of them. Lots and lots of them. He once drank me out of house and home. I never really forgave him for that. Until now. For the past is only yesterday, and tomorrow’s songs will be a little more somber for his untimely passing.
Taylor had the face of a boy but the heart of a war-torn wise man. He was like a shaman, his peace pipe always full of mirth and the songs of Jonathan Larson. His feet were fleet, and his every movement was liken unto that of a gazelle’s. With courage he lived, championing human rights, landmine awareness, and general public health. He once offered me a dime, not because he had to, but because that’s the kind of guy he was. If he were a hippy, his name would have been sunshine, for many were the rays of his compassion.
And now, twenty-five years later, we are left only with his memory, hazy impressions of a man whose kin was kindness, and whose legacy is a true masterpiece. Goodbye Taylor Finn Greeson, and may your delicate soul find solace as you sit at the Lord’s right hand.
--Darren E. Herczeg

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