The world goes by. Inside
The clocks are stopped.
A passing cyclist in the dappled park
Cannot sense the sadness within.
Along the altar, lights are lit
For all the lights too soon extinguished.
A baby’s voice echoes from a laden pew
As silent cries echo in these leaden hearts.
A hymn, a muted sob, a prayer
Rise to the high walls, where
The sinking sun casts spring leaves’
Lively and playful shadows.
1 comment:
Wow, Greg, this is really poignant. I like the way it references Auden, and the contrasts within the the imagery of the high walls and playful shadows with the weighty, leaden emotions. A child at my children's nursery died of meningitis a few years ago, and I think your poem very accurately captures the awfulness of the death of a child.
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