ABPA - Australian Bush Poets Association

ANGEL HAIR







They buried Marigold today – the one with angel hair
the apple of her mother’s eye with ringlets long and fair.
‘twas no one’s fault – an illness swift – that stole the lass away.
“Is anybody there for her?” – I heard the mother say.
“What if she’s frightened in the rain – who’ll see her dry and warm?
And oh she hates the thunder and she’s terrified of storms.
I cannot bear to think of her blue eyes lifeless and closed
and how can I just leave her there – I love her Heaven knows.”

The pastor took her shaking hand and led her to the shade
beneath a Pepperina tree – red blossoms all displayed.
He held her trembling shoulders in a grip gentle yet strong
and said in tones of sadness –“ there’s no answer – right or wrong.
Is there anybody there? Well I believe that’s so
for the Lord he is a shepherd and loves all his lambs you know.
The black sheep and the white sheep and all colours in-between
are all part of his family – to me that’s how it seems.”

“Is that what you believe” she cried “Oh God I pray it’s true.
Lost honesty has plagued me Sir, and now I beg of you
please say a prayer for Marigold and beg the Lord above
to care as much as I do for a daughter dearly loved.
It’s black over Bills mothers head – a shade of darkest grey
I know she holds her son at fault because he was away.
She loved this young child dearly from the minute of her birth
and held high expectations and greatly valued her worth.

We named her for Bills sister – the first child his Mother bore.
Another one who died too young. Father away at war,
and Bills mother has grieved for years – could not let her lass go.
Now our young Marigold has gone. She cannot bear the blow.
It’s as if life’s mocking echoes have come visiting again
for a while life here was wonderful – we’d overcome the pain
of loss, heartache and sorrow – rising debts and losing sleep,
and we thought we’d found a peacefulness at last that we could keep.

The light shining at tunnels end, the rainbows golden pot.
Oh I know I’m being fanciful but hope’s now all I’ve got.”
She knelt to place a white rose, bid her child God speed, and said
with a loving Mothers whisper “ till we meet again Cariad”

Maureen Clifford ©

Enjoyed it Maureen, funeral poems,!!! well you got to write about something


Sue

The issue of how to comfort the grieving is a very difficult issue. My opinion, for what it's worth is that we should accept that people need to mourn and the best way to begin to comfort them is to mourn with them. How we deal with our suffering and loss may turn into something good, but I think there's nothing good in death and loss, it's all bad.

No having a go at you Maureen. Just how I reflected on the theme in your poem.

You are right Sue and I have no idea where they come from - Dave my son describes it as his Mothers dark and mournful periods but actually I am a pretty happy person and don't do dark and mournful - so I figure they must be written for a reason that escapes me and I go with the flow. Maybe someone somewhere gets something from them. Over the years I have written heaps of them usually on request of family and friends.

No offence taken Neville - Death doesn't worry me I accept it as a part of life unless it is a life cut unnaturally short of course but it is always accompanied by sadness for those left behind ... we don't talk about death enough generally speaking...don't know why that is though, my Dad at one stage did a stint as an undertaker so I guess with my mob it is a topic that comes up all the time.

Cheers

Maureen