field of souls

the fronded chestnut tree

stirs over long grass

shadows flit and whisper

of what is and what is past

and in the field of souls

my grandfather rests at last

 

i will be seeing him still

some time the city crowds upon me

he'll raise an ashplant to a thistle

call his dog to heels

cry glory and whistle

whistle down the years

 

can you feel the softness

of the mist upon your face

or sense the shadows brooding

when the twilight whispers peace

then know the final darkness

is a darkness of release