Saturday, September 05, 2009

Last Gift

Serene in his narrow coffin
The little Father lay.
The church was hushed for a moment;
Then a great throng knelt to pray.

Grave priests and censer-bearers
In the chancel softly trod,
While music and the incense
Rose like a flower to God.

All at once, along the transept,
A little figure sped,
Laid something on the casket,
And then, in a panic, fled.

There on the sombre velvet
Lay an offering, not planned --
A bunch of dandelions,
Warm from the little hand.

A kind priest found the youngster,
Who raised his hanging head.
"He was good to my sick Mamma,
And prayed when she died." he said.

--Charles Ballard -photo by Taci Yuksel


HAINAngel2000 said...

The heartbreak of a father to bury his own child is just devastating and it should never be. Thank you for this post. it personally touched me

Joseph Pulikotil said...

Hi Fred:)

Very touching poem.

God bless you for sharing this,