Poetry

Our Poet

(in memory of Seamus Heaney)

I watched him as the piper played and thought
Age came too soon to him
And already he seemed frail and unsteady.
He spoke of school days as the beginning
Of his life’s journey with a warm sadness
That was echoed in that ancient music.
He spoke of his father’s strength and toil
His brother taken too early, familiar shades.
The body wears out and the spirit grows weary
Death, when it comes, is resignation to Fate.
Our span is so terribly short and breath gives out.
Yet if life were twice as long, it would still be too brief.
His words shape the emptying hall as time passes
The lights fade and go down, the crowd disperses.
We read his eulogy now and feel a loss
Like a brother’s or a father’s death
And hope he felt our love as he looked down
From the stage above us.

John C W Morris
18th November 2013