Procession moves on, the shouting is over

Praise to the glory of loved ones now gone

Talking aloud as they sit round their tables

Scattering flowers washed down by the rain

Stood by the gate at the foot of the garden

Watching them pass like clouds in the sky

Try to cry out in the heat of the moment

Possessed by a fury that burns from inside

Cry like a child, though these years make me older

With children my time is so wastefully spent

A burden to keep, though their inner communion

Accept like a curse an unlucky deal

Played by the gate at the foot of the garden

My view stretches out from the fence to the wall

No words could explain, no actions determine

Just watching the trees and the leaves as they fall