Mourning Poem III
Nov 21 2020 · 0 comments· News
Sonnet: Away from the Flock
(with apologies to Damien Hirst)
I met the vicar locking up the church
As I began my evening walk alone
She asked me how I was? I had to search
For something non-committal to atone
Unanswered emails since my father’s death.
I soon escaped and trudged my way again
To where the boats are moored, but on my breath
Unholy curses, heathen psalms of pain
That both my parents died within a year.
Across the water, sheep were grazing grass
And, nothing knowing, showed no spark of fear
That we might kill and eat them. All things pass.
The village priest sees sheepfolds in the sky
But I, like any beast, was born to die.
