Her time was up as spring sent shoots
Of new flowers out of the ground.
That day I came home and found
Her body sprawled upon the sheets
Still haunts my sleep. Dark winter comes.
The cold grave gapes wide in my mind.
Promising snow before the end
And ice to chill my troubled dreams.
Perhaps the dead trouble us
Because the afterlife is lonely
And spirits weary that they only
Wander mansions in God’s house
Instead of having a permanent place
For their weary souls to stay.
The dead, perhaps, forever stray
Without the solace of a house.
Wenhaston Doom, Church of St. Peter, Wenhaston, Suffolk
[detail] "In my Father's house are many mansions." -- John 14:2