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~The Dove~
| Open Poetry #5 |
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~The Dove~ |
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Rod Member
since 1999-12-08
Posts 149Auckland New Zealand |
A couple of weeks ago, I was inspired to write this piece, having read Rosemary J. Gwaltney's poem about her visit to her child's resting place. I was moved, not only by her courage, but also by the replies she received. Of course, I am not aware of Rosemary's particular circumstances, but I have done my best to include elements to which most people, especially bereaved mothers, can relate in some way. For you Rosemary, and for the millions of mothers who have known the same agonies you have had to endure. It is my sincere hope that you may find some small comfort in this poem. THE DOVE Mute hangs the winter’s icy chill Grey morning mist lies bleak and still; And silence, like a spectre, reigns; Save footfalls, where the snow remains. No breath of wind greets frosted bough Suspended, it is ghost-like now. Ethereal, its woody fingers Rake, but still the cold fog lingers. Bereft of reason, paused in time, The mourners in their grief combine. As callous clouds of anguish smother Family and weeping mother. And none will deign to hide or mask it, As bearers bring the tiny casket White, wreathed, adorned with Cross of gold, It nestles in their careful hold. Beneath the stand of mighty oak’n Ash, the words yet to be spoken Tumble through the Vicar’s mind, His task... the saddest of mankind. As all in sombre bonding stand, The scene knows neither time nor land. And all here present feel its breath; Its iceberg touch..... its kiss of death. Its tendrils, dark and sinister Encompass all....... the minister Takes solace in a silent prayer, And begs the Lord his burden share. Thus all in sorrow stand around The waiting void of new-dug ground Its earthy walls.....its cold embrace A desolate, unfeeling place. A dozen faces, gaunt and pale Give echo to the mother’s wail; For, if the choice were theirs to make, Each one, the child’s place would take. Remote, the numbing second thrives, The little coffin then arrives; Such hanging pall of grim despair Defies the human soul to bear...... A mother’s pain, that tears apart The very sinews of her heart Which shrieks the plaintive, searing cry “What have I done? - for God’s sake WHY?” ~ So sudden - in her darkest hour A vision blossoms like a flower! A portal dark, with light is gifted. A Damoclean sword is lifted. She sees green hills with sparkling waters And countless million sons and daughters. Creeds and colours of all ages..... The book of life’s unopened pages. The partly written page, unfinished, The postponed parchment, undiminished. And those for whom all teardrops fall..... The ones which have no words at all. There’s no disease, no lies, no hate, For these remain at Heaven’s gate; They know no pain, they voice no cries, A love-light shines within their eyes. She’s drawn towards a quiet brook A white-robed form with shepherd’s crook. His gentle manner strong, yet mild, And, in his arms, her little child. In that brief instant, time was stilled; Her heart with warm contentment filled. And, in His light, she found the power That e’er sustains the unknown hour. ~ Reality again returns, Though in her heart the vision burns. Its everlasting, hallowed flame Restores and dignifies again. With tear-filled eyes, and hands that shook, The Vicar gently closed the Book. From his right hand, a dusty curtain Falls, in hope that’s sure and certain. Then radiant breaks the morning sun; The vanquished mist flees at a run. As silver spangled jewelled beams In dancing yellows, golds and creams Shine warmly on the little grave, The snow, its thawed surrender gave In melting yield, its remnants grooming Crocus flower and snowdrop blooming. She wonders if it’s all a dream.......... The Shepherd’s crook..... the shining stream? Whose attestation brooks denial Within the nightmares of her trial. Her ears discern a call.....a sound! Her gaze, on rising from the ground, Beholds, poised on a limb above....... ...........A solitary snow-white dove. Her wings unfold, with grace she glides, Then o’er the little grave presides; Divine, her presence signifies This child in full salvation lies. In glorious farewell, she flies To silver sun and sapphire skies. Redemption’s herald, winged and white; The candle.............. in a mother’s night. ©2000 Rod Walford |
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| © Copyright 2000 Rod Walford - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Meadowmuse Member Elite
since 1999-12-27
Posts 3263 |
Rod, this is master poetry by all accounts. Thank you, in earnest, for this strikingly unfeigned and tender gifting. Your craft is exceptional. Claire |
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Elizabeth Santos Member Rara Avis
since 1999-11-08
Posts 9269Pennsylvania |
Rod, Sorry, I can't see the keyboard through the tears, so I'll just say - magnificent Liz |
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Nan
Administrator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-05-20
Posts 21191Cape Cod Massachusetts USA |
This is wonderful, Rod... truly wonderful  |
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Marge Tindal 
since 1999-11-06
Posts 42384Florida's Foreverly Shores |
Rod- Rosemary and Dale will really appreciate this lovely work, as anyone who has lost a child will. What tender pourings from a caring heart. Tears of sweet remembrance fall for those I've known and lost. Every child that dies is somebody's child. I cry for them all. And then the calmness comes over us ... we find comfort. Rod, you've taken inspiration to the heights with this wonderful piece. I will share it with many. Love ~*Marge*~ ~*The pen of the poet never runs out of ink, as long as we breathe.*~ [email protected] |
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HelmutB Senior Member
since 2000-01-06
Posts 964Canada |
Very sad, very nice Feelings and more To lose a child is to lose your soul Pray with my heart The ability to describe life with words is similar to painting a picture; both can be powerful tools. |
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Rosemary J. Gwaltney Senior Member
since 1999-08-26
Posts 997northern mountains, Idaho |
Dear Rod - this poem is immensely touching, as is your having been inspired to write it by my small poem! We are amazed by your kindness and care. Your poem is beautifully written, with eloquent, heartrending, poignant imagery, such careful wording, lovely rhyme, and above all, the vivid description of both the anguish and the faith! I appreciate this poem more than I could ever say. It's wonderful, and yes, it is a comfort. I'm going to keep it in my private files, if it's all right with you, to read over and over forever. Thank you for writing it. Thank you for sharing. Thank you for caring. - Rosemary and Dale. P.S. In retrospect, since I have moved my poem about visiting my baby's grave to our own site, "Crossing Rivers", in the room called "Of Loss", I thought I should, perhaps make note of that, in case your exquisite poem, and clear tribute to mine causes anyone to try to find it. And yes, I too, was tremendously moved by the responses, and have saved every one, and will read and re-read them all my life, as I will your wonderful poem here. [This message has been edited by Rosemary J. Gwaltney (edited 01-16-2000).] |
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Denise
Moderator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-08-22
Posts 22648 |
This is simply magnificent, Rod. It has touched me deeply, as it has others. Denise And slight is the sting of his trouble Whose winnings are less than his worth; For he who is honest is noble, Whatever his fortunes or birth.~~~Alice Cary, ~Nobility~ |
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Seymour Tabin Member Empyrean
since 1999-07-07
Posts 31720Tamarac Fla |
Rod, This poem is a classic, You are are a talented poet. I read your things when ever you post and have enjoyed every one. Sy |
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