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Portrait of the Artist as a Lone Tree

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For Gillian, 29 months

Click to hear (.mp3)


O angel grave, by your parentsí side,
your sister comes, no more denied;
your death was the day that her tears all died,
and the sundering years were long and wide.

Here in the bosom of the ancient earth
lies a tiny form sadly dead near birth;
fever has silenced your infant mirth.
Now none remembers your precious worth.

Aunt forgotten, I know your name,
but never knew you, for the angels came -
ended forever your earthly game,
for heaven cherished a stronger claim.

Here then at last by your tiny side,
my own dear mother at last has died;
the tears in my eyes are from her, to you;
Iím crying, for no one allowed her to.


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