You sleep now
In a place I cannot see or imagine.
Somewhere far across those carpeted fields,
Beyond those wind-raked hills
Dusted by hanging mists.
You are a long way from where I stand
Among monuments of loss.
Your headstone
Stares not at my trousered legs
Buffeted by drizzled squall,
But past them through rows of marble,
Through the hundreds that surround you,
Across those very fields and hills
To a distant place uncorrupted
Where I hope you smile in peace.
I have to believe it;
That you are somewhere else.
Not here in this lonely place amonst strangers,
Buried in the clinging weald clay
Where indifferent groundsmen sail across
Your hallowed piece of ground on mowers,
Where the ignorant,lacking reverence
Bring their dogs to defecate.
I really hope you are not here,
But it is here I said goodbye to you.
So sometimes I return
When the pace of this insanity we call life
Slows enough for me to pause and step off the ride.
So as to briefly stand at your grave
And lay fresh flowers to replace those dead.
Flowers are lucky
For our own dead can never be replaced.