Sights and Sounds
(St. Finbarr’s Cemetery, Cork, Ireland)
A little boy……..
Black plumed horses, a slow bell tolls,
Spark flint hoofs on cobblestones.
Straight backed coachmen, with tall trimmed hats;
Flower draped coffin, on a glass cased rack.
Grieving women, one so small;
I hardly recognise them all.
They pat me on the head and ‘tut’
Then say, I look like him so much.
Crowds of men with shuffling feet,
Cigarettes smoked so discrete.
Window blinds drawn, all around;
I seem to hear a silent sound.
A slow procession, a priest – a cross,
Did he just say I’d be turned to dust?
I feel my hands and touch my face;
So happy, that I’m still in place.
A tree lined path; disturbed rooks,
Stone carved angels reading open books.
Some women wail, my uncle cries;
It’s not much fun I think, to die.
The ropes are looped, men take the strain,
A sprinkling I thought first was rain.
The sound of earth on wood and cross,
Then I realise, what I had lost.
© John Anthony Fingleton (Löst Viking)
Family photo of my Grandfather James Higgins