Saturday, 9 January 2016

On The Death Of A Cat Called Lou Lou

We had the choice,
To hold you in this world
Your tiny frail frame 
Racked by illness
Or let you go, on your Way.
Now the river runs high
As rain mingles with tears.

Into the earth
Laid gentle
On a bed of fern leaves,
That which remained of you
After the spirit flown.
Your capstone
A blanket of red earth
Ready to receive this gift.

In breath, out breath
The space between
Neither Being nor Non-Being.
At last something solid!

The tangle of sorrows and joys
Of this world
Born of our own eyes –
And above it all pinpricks of light
Birth & death from millions of years ago.

Tonight the rain
Will soak into your grave.
Spirit flown -
The bed by the fire empty.