At thirty six his dawn was bright,
A youthful flame, a rising light,
He walked by faith with future in sight,
Questions rise without answers.
Eighty two days he held the rod,
Eighty two days he served his God,
Eighty two days on sacred sod,
Questions rise without answers.
He was like a son placed in my care,
A heart I shaped with constant prayer,
I saw my mantle resting there,
Questions rise without answers.
I mentored him with patient hand,
I hoped one day he too would stand,
And fill my shoes across this land,
Questions rise without answers.
I thought he would close my weary eyes,
And speak of hope beneath the skies,
Yet now before his casket lies,
Questions rise without answers.
Mugai I called him in quiet cheer,
Mogae when his heart drew near,
Festus when his path was clear,
Questions rise without answers.
Mungai my son, so strong, so true,
A faithful heart in all he knew,
A true son through and through,
Questions rise without answers.
The pulpit waits, the pews are still,
My soul wrestles against this will,
This untold pain no words can fill,
Questions rise without answers.
Yet heaven marks what earth calls loss,
A young life anchored to the cross,
A shepherd crowned beyond our loss,
Questions rise without answers.
Though tears now fall and strength feels thin,
And grief moves deep beneath the skin,
His rest has now begun within,
Questions rise without answers.
(Psalm 116:15; 2 Timothy 4:7; Philippians 1:21; Job 1:21; Revelation 14:13; Ecclesiastes 3:1-2; 1 Thessalonians 4:13-14)