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About the Poem

We attended the funeral of a friend of a friend, held at Bolton Abbey, North Yorkshire, England. The site is very beautiful, by a river, far out in the country. As the cortege passed down the hill, one could hear the rush of the river, the cry of the curlews overhead, the intonation of the priest. It all made a strong impression on me, and I went home and wrote this poem for the survivor.

Bolton Abbey

Down those awkward steps on a windy day
To the wattle boundary fence they carried him.
There, at one with the clay
The curlews and the sky, they left him.

Ashes to ashes, the river's sound,
Did it make any sense to his friend?
Blinking back tears as they gathered around
He wondered if this was the end.
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© 1999 Geoff Sanderson Please respect the rights of the author and Passions in Poetry. If you would like to use this poem on your own web page, please contact the Author. Thank you.

1 Visitor Comments

aleen
this poems was nice and i kinda relate to it

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