Untimely Death Songs Are Always Here To Be Sung Poem by Mark Heathcote

The need to be understood
The need to be loved can't be feigned
It's in our blood, it's in our veins
It's a vial of love that can runneth over
Or poison more than you can care to think.

It seems survival is ingrained-
As are the scares of divorce
Untimely death songs are always,
Always here to be sung, a daughter
A sister, a babe in arms, sucked into the ground.

Gnarled are we by grief as adults
As children asking if daddy loved us
Did he have any regrets leaving us?
Why does a black hearse follow us?
Why does a black hearse follow us still until we die?

Tomorrow, I'll offer you an infrequent smile.
But it'll feel more like a curse
One that's been given to me over the years
And a casket sun will break from those dark clouds
And give us all again a reason to live and smile.

Every year, another ring is added to the Tree of Life.
Even though its heart beats steady and slow
It still knows how to grow and feel blessed
In its little forest house, in its little forest house,
Pussy willow buds grow like in the Ark two abreast.