It Will Be A Little While
It will be a little while yet
before the parched leaves of sorrow
are swept away by the
winds of time
Garbed in funereal white
Like a silent sentinel
I pay witness
to the frenzied feeding of the flames
Gentling winds
sweep soft ash-rain
over the weeping limbs of the Fig trees
Green becomes grey
Life huddles
Feverish under the mantle of death
Blossoms shiver and fade away
It will be a little while yet
before the memory of your soft laugh
burgeons fruit
Swaying pendulousy
from the topmost branches
And we shall jump
and glutton ourselves
on its sweet juices
Our misery a distant discordant sound
amidst the laughter
As we feast,
our recollections
shall leave sticky trails
It will be a little while…
…yet
Bea Turvey
I wrote this for my father, but was too distraught to read it at on the day. The depiction of a funeral pyre is not accurate as we were at a crematorium in England, but the sentiment remains.
Ohm, Shanti Ohm
Scribbled thoughts of a mad woman 