Untitled (Bury me under a cedar tree…) / nick hutchings

Bury me under a cedar tree
On a rain swept winter’s day
By the steps to the old church
Where the living sing songs
To the bones of the dead

Have the young men carry
My casket and lower it down
But don’t think that I am there
This is only what remains
Artifacts of what used to be

Ask the women to read
A little of my own verse
That I might linger a while
With those whom I loved
A hidden spirit of memory

Toss flowers in my grave
If I could still smell taste
Feel hear and see then I
Would be pleased but
They’re not to comfort me

When all the praying’s done
Stay for a time and mingle
Reconnect for you‘ve not
Seen each other in a while
My diaspora friends and family

Leave me under that cedar tree
On a rain swept winter’s day
By the steps to the old church
Where the living sing songs
To the bones of the dead

•••

Nick Hutchings: Despite my many teachers’ best efforts to prepare me for a job indoors I chose commercial diving. I love to explore and am equally happy doing so in the deep ocean or the intriguing social phycology of my community using aquatic robots for the former and poetry for the latter.

One comment

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    […] “Toss flowers in my grave If I could still smell taste Feel hear and see then I Would be pleased but They’re not to comfort me” read the whole of Nick Hutchings’ Untitled (Bury me under a cedar tree…) […]

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