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All poems: copyright by
Nicholas Gordon
Free scrapbook poems
permission to use
provided by the author. |
Our grandson Tyler was just over seven
When he died while eating supper in our home.
Two weeks earlier he'd talked of heaven,
And of how after death we're not alone.
His best friend said a prayer when he was buried,
And just as if he'd answered from the dead,
We heard the drone of planes high up, unhurried,
And saw the "missing man" fly overhead.
He left behind his mom and little brother,
Pappy, Emma, Uncle Bubba, too;
And ten months old, his baby cousin Jordan,
Who now does all the things he used to do.
We see him in her smile, her hands, her shoulders;
He quiets her and makes her more serene.
He comes to her at night, and to his brother,
And tells them of the wonders he has seen.
He tells them of a paradise of angels
Filled like a billion suns with love and glory,
And of the many souls arranged on stages
Waiting for the end of history;
And of the recent dead, who can return
To tell their loved ones what death has in store,
Who hang around that little ones might learn
The secrets of "life" on the other shore.
Is all this true? And are the dead still living?
Can our love persuade their souls to stay?
I only know that Tyler is still with us,
Though long since his flesh has passed away. |
