My own personal grey cloud
Has been
hanging unmoving over me
For weeks
now
Reason,
which used to be my best friend,
Is no help
to me.
Only a
singing blackbird
Can teach me
a true philosophy.
So, I caught
a cab to the crematorium,
Where I sat
on low brick wall
Looking at
the manicured lawns and trees
Above me a skylark
sang,
A buzzard
sparred with gulls and crows,
Then another
hawk appeared.
These are
all good omens.
The mourners
assembled below,
Not somber
suited as usual,
But a multi-faceted
colourful crowd,
Gathered to
pay their many respects
To a multi-faceted colourful man,
Who after floods of praise and love,
Was burned in a wicker casket.
A true Druid.
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