to the horns and brakes of Union City 
in the shadow of the Big Apple, 
with mother and father striving  
for the modern American life  
their immigrant parents had journeyed to.  
Raised in Brooklyn’s bright lights 
but preferring Omama’s simple 
household in Reading where you remained 
her kleiner Prinz, where you fled when needed.  
And years later you settled in the country,  
trading busy streets for rows of corn, strayed 
from parish ministry towards teaching, 
though father, grandfather and so on 
had spent their lives in pulpits.  

Come to think of it, you lived your mantras: 
“strike while the iron’s hot,” “be flexible” 
and “don’t expect consistency.”