Lullaby To a Dead Man

Your feet are cold, And you lay stilled Like a stone in the snow, Carved at winter’s bloom. I see you Stilled like that wood we use to sit, Between the gates of heaven and hell, When voices are heard and the scent Of the harmattan fresh in the air. I see you Speechless in that look, Not gaunt but gone. In patches of pancakes on your face Was the kindness of The mortician Paraphrased. I see you now, When your worries are no more, Your cares married to the earth. Insipid, yet not aggrieved, Only a darkening cadaver Baggage of an ageing undertaker… I see you