Funeral In Ardmore

The minister in black stares at gashed ground,
This hole opening into eternity.
Dan the crofter’s days are finished,
Each one numbered in his Maker’s book.
Now he rests, son of the soil reclaimed,
Hoe and harrow laid by in the shed to rust.

New-married in his hilltop manse, the minister
Is young and inexperienced, he feels the weight
Of a community’s grief heavy on his shoulders.
Slowly reading the words from the Book aloud,
The atmosphere intense on a stormy November day.
Rain falling as they start the psalm-singing.

A simple service this, for a humble man.
Dan was the last of his kind.
Newcomers flooding in as time trickles by.
His body lies thinly in the box,
Lowered as his friends say goodbye.
A whole way of life become dust.