THE OBITUARY OF DOCTOR MORGAN

 

 

 

Lying in a walnut casket

He cannot see the mourners

Nor can he know how few have come

To bless him on his journey.

This soul who sat alone with the dying,

Who spoke to them in soothing tones

Reaching out most tenderly;

And when their spirits touched

He could feel his skin rise

For he had sensed the threshold of the holy.

These are moments unnoticed by the world

For they are always deeply personal,

Pure in their offering,

Fleeting,

Hidden beneath the open sky.

This is the solemn image I would choose 

Of loving husband, father, brother, son

To mark the sad hour of his passing.

 

INDEX