Place of Rest

this poem was written after my father's ashes were buried at Arnos Vale Cemetery in Bristol. This Victorian cemetery is being restored to its original use without losing the important and diverse natural habitat it had become while unused, something my dad would have approved of.

In this place of rest

you rest,

more at peace than ever in your own bed;

more tranquil.

Eternal rest, you believed,

undisturbed by gods or men -

no judgement, approbation, yet heaven

where the breeze cools and tall ash trees float,

creaking and groaning,

calling and crooning,

welcoming goldfinches, squirrels and jays;

where slanting sun cuts diamonds and jet stones,

dazzling and warming,

enriching and sketching

crenulated trunks of oak, yew and pine;

where scents of a childhood you couldn’t know –

wild garlic and leaf mould

damp nettles, rotting wood –

assuage city stenches of lorries and smog;

where once nature conquered the efforts of men

with brambles and dead grass,

dry leaves and strong ivy

but now makes alliance with living and dead.

In this place of rest,

I rest,

more at peace than ever in my own bed;

more tranquil.