Dear Śrīla Prabhupāda,
nama oṁ viṣṇu-pādāya kṛṣṇa-preṣṭhāya bhū-tale
śrīmate bhaktivedānta-svāminn iti nāmine
namas te sārasvate deve gaura-vāṇī-pracāriṇe
nirviśeṣa-śūnyavādi-pāścātya-deśa-tāriṇe
I was there in the crowd in Atlanta
You were everything to us
There was that walk in the park
I tried to catch any word of yours
But I just did not succeed
Your assistants surrounded you
It was not at all audible
And I was a shy guy
In Detroit you were very happy
The Fisher Mansion had become ours
The walk was not possible
Rain made it so restrictive
It became a drive through Belle Isle
In those days I drove, so I was behind
The back of your head was visible
For the absolute whole time
Then, there was a morning in Chicago
At a park by Lake Michigan
You trekked the trail gracefully
There was an entourage that followed
Then Viśākhā held up her camera
You posed, devotees fussed with your shawl
I heard you loud and clear
“You cannot satisfy all of the people all of the time”
In my hometown, Toronto
We had acquired that big church
You sent a telegram – “Great triumph!”
Then you came to personally see
Were taken to Taylor Creek Park
Water flowed, all was green – serene
You spoke some words – out of earshot
But I was so glad you came
People are surprised I never spoke to you
I am your student, but no exchange
What would I say? I was a shy guy
But I heard your classes
And I was there to see you walk
I sleep in the room where you slept
My best sleep comes when I hear a recording
I am blessed like anything
Your servant,