We passed by the silent sliding curtain,
That closed the final act upon her life.
Through the florist’s dank smell of the courtyard,
And passed wilting flowers in rusty vases,
Into the bright, insensitive, sunlight.
Amongst the black and gleaming cortège cars,
In dark suits and modest hats,
We spoke soft words of present grief,
And some with hugs of comfort,
Said their slow, and sad, farewells.
She was of our generation,
Unassuming soul- wife and mother,
Extravagant of her to go before us,
Or so the shock has made it seem,
As we envy her, her dignity in death.
I had a vision on that day,
When reality briefly lost it’s grip,
I saw the gathered congregation,
In rigid transparent silhouette,
Their gaze affixed upon her fresh flowered casket.
I was given then the eyes of God,
And saw each gathered mortal soul,
As wilting flowers in rusty vases,
Amongst the courtyard’s sweet dank florist’s smell
And all affronted by her freshness in her death.
Yes we who think as fresh blooms Are indeed one day or night doomed Not to walk down those cobbled stones But carried in a coffin to our subsoil homes...... Good write sir and welcome to my page
A great write and something that we all must face. Into the bright in sensitive sunlight well written
Just absolutely brilliant capture the moment wonderfully. 10/10 BB: O)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Need text for the poe. WATCH IT..JOHN COLDWELL