It's Still Life

Whispered Encomiums

And when the earth is dead,
when it lays stiff and cold
with one candle by its head
and another set at its feet,
we’ll mourn its passing
in whispered encomiums
of bird song and cedars,
blue chiffon skies and seas
salt-dyed and unkempt as
we say rosaries, and recite
from flyblown books as if
celebrating, an Irish wake.

And we all agreed that
we wore-out the fiddler.

Day 14: American Sonnet and Day 16 A Letter to the World