BY MAC LOGAN

 

Itʼs a quiet space… a graveyard,

a place where mortals ended

a life of some contentment

with a share of sadness blended.

 

At every turn you see

a stone that says: I love you …

You left mayhap Iʼm lonely …

I’ll shortly follow on.

 

Sadly missed when the last breath hissed,

a dear beloved brother …

We cry for you between twelve and two,

on alternate days from Mother.

 

Long centuries of rich and frugal

wait upon the final bugle,

beneath two tons of marble,

below a pauper’s stone.

 

I hear the atheistic screams,

they think they die for ever.

I hear the smirk of the Wee-Free Kirk

as they tune their harps together.

 

Convention and love are different things,

not everybody heeds.

Love isnʼt chained by the sod and stone

convention really needs.

 

So, here I stand in dead folksʼ land

and standing here I wonder,

Will earth and stones conceal my bones?

Will I lie in peace down under?

 

Copyright Mac Logan

Mac Logan is a Scottish Poet & Author.