Tara Staunton Aspiring poet, photographer and genetic scientist. Lover of life, art, literature and sunshine

This night we are walking

So lightly do we tread

So as not to scare the bluebells

Or wake the beasts ahead

 .

On the previous evening

As our mother lay to die

She said a lady with a pail

Had told her to say goodbye

 .

She cried “Oh daughters please don’t mourn

For my life has been so long

Do not look that way my son

Blessed is the angles song

 .

I see it all so clearly now

The answers are to come

Maiden, mother and then to crone-

In my last spirits come, I am not alone”

 .

So we smiled and laughed

And all was light and gay

But then the shudder of death did come

And her spirit flew away

So that night we went to sleep

And sweet dreams did the spirits give

That showed our mother in her prime

Showed us that her soul did live

 .

So this night we are walking

So lightly do we tread

Our mothers casket on our backs

The moon, lighting the kirkyard path ahead