The Passing of a Mountain
Thick folds of gold brocade
cover the stone altar
like skirts of foothills
around the base of a mountain.
A cloth of white overlays,
opened fold by fold. Choirboys
amass later in the day, frocked
in snowy surplice, their voices soar
like eagles above iced peaks
to fill ceiling vaults carved
by hands that shaped wood and stone
to worship the cathedral of nature.
Queen and God and everyone
have gathered to remember Sir Ed.,
But he has returned to the top of the world
riding his updraft through the thin air.
cover the stone altar
like skirts of foothills
around the base of a mountain.
A cloth of white overlays,
opened fold by fold. Choirboys
amass later in the day, frocked
in snowy surplice, their voices soar
like eagles above iced peaks
to fill ceiling vaults carved
by hands that shaped wood and stone
to worship the cathedral of nature.
Queen and God and everyone
have gathered to remember Sir Ed.,
But he has returned to the top of the world
riding his updraft through the thin air.
posted by burning moon at 3:57 AM
2 Comments:
He really was quite an amazing man
And revered in NZ from what I can gather, and well he should be, he was the embodiment of another era and the pride and bravery it stood for.
lovely lovely poem and tribute to him kid.
thanks. I jotted these thoughts down while I was watching his funeral on tv. Just came across them yesterday.
He seemed to be a good bloke
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