About the Poem
We attended the funeral of a friend of a friend, held at Bolton Abbey, North Yorkshire, England. The site is very beautiful, by a river, far out in the country. As the cortege passed down the hill, one could hear the rush of the river, the cry of the curlews overhead, the intonation of the priest. It all made a strong impression on me, and I went home and wrote this poem for the survivor.
|by Geoff Sanderson|
|Down those awkward steps on a windy day
To the wattle boundary fence they carried him.
There, at one with the clay
The curlews and the sky, they left him.
Ashes to ashes, the river's sound,
Did it make any sense to his friend?
Blinking back tears as they gathered around
He wondered if this was the end.