Catastrophe

by M. M. Evans-Carpenter

 

So pale; she loved you; hard to believe.
Where is she gone? No stir, no sound,
Here at the end, eyes shut, no sign,
In no time gone and in the ground.

Little to tell, far less to say.
Long night takes longing day away.
No getting out. No going on.
Ah the truth begins to dawn.

Quiet the winterchill on the breeze.
Quiet the seraphs, stone the child.
Catastrophe. How, why, like that?
Son of man, another time.