Son Of Man Poem by Paul HADFIELD

After three days they shuttled him away
A short slow distance
From his longest home
Transported him
Before his congregation,
Bore him across
The breadth
and depth of
(Uselessly effulgent)
Obsequies.

He to all purposes
Oblivious of the attention
Largely spent upon him

Discoursed upon the eloquence
Of form;
Tellus and his elemental life: the fume
Of wood:
His pulpit, manicured and sound
The final shavings resolutely planed
Soundless dust accumulating
From the Four Corners
Of the earth