poetry & things

funeral march

When you were a child, skies went on forever

golden light, your heart – of fiery field

with a toy gun to shoot the falling stars

from heaven

Once I saw a funeral march

walking slow as fog, gray sorrow made it’s way

with flowers, and faces cried like rain

and stayed with me, all the day

When I was a child, death was foreign

mysterious as plague and strange

on wintry wings it seemed to come

– never calling your name

In those days and dreams of ocean birds

with songs of love, you swam to the warming sun

Today outside your window

a tiny bird sings

to the solemn dawn

unaware that you have gone

just like all the golden flowers

of yesterday and tomorrow

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