A light shower began to fall,
‘A soft day’
So it is called in my country.
It settled on the coffin
Forming on the polished surface,
Drops of transparent dew –
Tears of the rain,
Some hung like late and slightly drunken mourners
Discretely from nearby trees.
Christ, spread-eagled in bronze,
Miraculously was not affected by this;
In fact it made him looked bored.
As if this was his mundane, monotonous daily job.
Two men (dressed in black)
Faces masked with the sympathetic
Camouflage of their task,
Opened umbrellas over a group
That were also mainly, wearing dark colours.
With the exception of a white cassocked priest.
He sprinkled water –
Disturbing the perfect composition of nature.
Still the eyes of Christ stayed dry.
The grave which already had been dug,
Was covered with a flower bedecked board
This was moved aside;
The straps were slung –
The weight tested –
Some drops ran urgently
But too late, down the side;
Then we buried the tears.
© (Löst Viking) (August 17th 2015) John Anthony Fingleton