The Maiden Rover
Four generations stood
that cold February morning
and heard the feet who brought the grey coffin
crush the cold, crisp snow.
Four generations watched
as muscles taught
let the ropes gently slide and ease the box
of memories so precious into natures night.
I cannot say that all wept
or even that those who wept tasted salt
as their tears ran freely
but I saw a wonder as a flock
of passing crows passed that morning.
I saw a jackdaw so frisky, its call distinct,
its nape cold grey as the sinking casket.
I wondered if those birds understood
the moment that was passing.
“Death comes to us all”,
I heard a neighbour speaking,
‘and after this the judgement’
I heard my thoughts collide.
Will we remember as fondly
the days of summer love,
the glad surprise, the glint in her eyes
or will we dulled and angry
say goodnight for ever to the maiden rover?
The land that is England seems drawn,
she has long lost her smile
and tasted of a poisoned phial,
has she so little more to say?
– goodbye maiden fair.
I’ll love thee always … always.
written by edenbray 06.1998 re-written 18.07.2012
This piece was written in 1998 and it is posted today as a memorial to my dear mother who died on this day in 2007. Roma Joan was a free spirit, a globetrotter, who loved to travel and discover new places. A maiden rover, a maiden fair, who we will love always.