We were numbered on the rolling lawn
we were gathered to her side
she lay beneath the drooping tree
and oh, how all the white doves cried
The wind turned our bones to white
stirred our words to a low howl
carried the haka and the pipers tune
that broke apart the deepest well
It was a broken hallelujah,
swept through the night at 2.00 am
like a raging freight train
running on the rail of a single headlight.
The room is dimly lit,
she lies in shadow,
cold and still;
they sleep on the floor
beside her casket
so she will not be alone.
A bright light
In the deep earth
In our hearts
Laid to rest
I think of him as he packs his heart
for the road that lies ahead,
as he wraps the long night about her,
lights a candle against the grey light
and watches for the dawn.
The albatross weeps,
its crystal tears fall
like spears to pierce
our hearts and rend
them in two.
She waits, in the long night,
the sounds of the hospital ward
rattle the grey, half-light.
I am thinking of her.
She is thinking of tomorrow
with some relief perhaps that
at last the operation will be over;
a little anxious maybe,
for the road that lies ahead
We remember the white feathers
floating across the roadside fields,
watered by blood and conscience,
nurtured by peace and justice,
the voice of passive resistance.
Shall we dance no more,
no waltz or two-step,
no wild horses across
the wooden floor.
Will we sing no more,
no anthem of joy,
or a song of longed-for love,
I am broken to the core.