Waiting

For weeks we waited for the end to come

And now I wait for others to arrive

Before his funeral is finally begun

And our lives, put on hold, can be revived.

Oblivious birds squawk in the rambling rose

And cats prowl off along the garden sides

While I try to read or to compose

In this blank space between turning tides

Oh but I'd rather be anywhere but here -

Gerontius-like I yearn to be away

Cradled gently in some loving arm

Which will make all things well and bring a balm

To touch my forehead, kiss my cheek and say

That all is well, and dry my unwished tear.

Brian Hick 29.6.09

©copyright Sally Hick 17.6.22