I'm looking out at Dublin town,
American Embassy, white and round,

Here in June of sixty-three
Our Jack walked out, the isle to see,

The alien breed from Jackie's poem
Welcomed him here to his forebears' home,

They cheered him in O'Connell Street then,
He said he was going to come again

To see once more this happy place,
And smile again at Shannon's face,

Fondly all, we said goodbye,
And many a tear wet many an eye,

When he left us -- went away
On that dreadful November day,

Now John-John's grown and asking why
His loving father had to die,

Was it humanity's mortal sin --
Or for things that might have been?

No, death will come to great and small,
The only certainty after all,

Our Jack went on to sweet release,
Pursuing ever the Golden Fleece.

by D. Edgar Murray 03/17/1985.