by Diana Clay
Be gentle to my glen when I have gone.
Come out in Summer when the wild rose blooms,
my trees provide the loving shade I planned.
Let children's children play among the flowers
and run across the graves of dogs long dead.
Watch massing clouds obscure Knocklayde from view
then listen to the wind: the age old song
that hovered over chaos when God spoke.
I will be but invisible to you,
my children and my loved ones side by side.
Emerging from the second womb of death
to everlasting life - be glad for me.
And sometimes stop to listen for my voice
a whisper in the wind at eventide.
Last updated May 26, 2011