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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I Was on a winter morn gently put to ground, and parish leaves wet underfoot led to the sermon ‘neath the mount and to its dirges inside the gates of Eden. Where souls walk in funeral marches betwixt its gothic bell tower and arches II Through stained glass altar light I heard a lone voice not of my own recite "The Lord is my shepherd…and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever”. What grim woe it is so young to die and have to say the last long goodbye III There I was immobilised and weak with no voice to sing or words to speak, and close as you were to touch I could not hold you or bring you back. To mighty God in misty cavalcade silently for that day to end I prayed IV The bells of Greyfriars in my head tolled for the living and tolled for the dead! And with each loud toll I bid farewell for I knew there would no resurrection be. O’ how that wind and sea and sky would my own dark cast personify V Buried below is but bone and lock in the honeycomb hills of Schnapper Rock - under hallowed cross in God's acre lies a body of memory destined to live. Here I stand on your tomb of clay but its flowers have all long died away VI Forgive my duty of care defiled and forgive the ways of a miscreant child. If I had my time and yours again I'd adore you, Mother, and be a better son. On your death bed you spoke to me and still those words echo mournfully VII Sorrowed is the deprivation of life, grieved is a daughter, mother, and wife! In my own rehearsal for death ask what becomes the soul of redemption lost? And what reprove you leave behind - it is a meditation that oft fills my mind VIII O’ Death has pierced your defences, snuffed the flame and dulled my senses. Alas so it is and so it must be so soon that we drink the bitter milk of mortality. God has saved you and your fears from this veil of sin and vale of tears. Written : July 1992
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