by John Birch

Scatter my ashes upon the wild moors, he said
where as a boy I wandered
but scatter them far and wide
for in those days this was my world
my playground
Hedgerows, trees and I grew tall together there, he said
tender saplings upon which I carved your name
stand tall and graceful now
sturdy enough to face the fiercest storm
Endless sheep have grazed contented
those windswept slopes
and lambs have perished on cold and frosty nights
when no hedgerow is sufficient sanctuary

Each year I have watched the endless cycle
of life and death
and without fail given thanks each Spring
for the miracle of rebirth
and understood
that this is how it was meant to be
nothing to last forever
but gathered up in nature's loving arms
and put to use once more
So scatter my ashes upon the wild moors, he said
that I should rest in peace
but visit me now and then
and see how nature
ha once again transformed death
to life

The ocean seems rather tired this evening
sighing as it washes slowly over sand at the end of a long and weary day
The effort seems almost too much
Even pebbles that on the morning tide would have yielded gladly to the flow
now offer resistance to the gentle ripples
Wind has ceased
there is peace
a calm tranquility
a golden glow created by the setting sun now stretches from horizon
to my naked feet
pervades the very air I breath and draw deeply into my lungs
There is a closeness, a on-ness, a unity into which no insidious thought
would dare intrude
And in this personal ad private moment
I and my creator communicate

Words are personal
and communicate
but sticks and stones break bones and
Words are personal
and irritate
but arrows get beneath the skin
and penetrate
Words are personal
and aggravate
but bullets quickly find their mark
and terminate
Words are personal
and liberate
thermonuclear devices simply






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