Sweet sadness, I will never turn my back on thee.
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Village Song
I have been long away
But now I’m coming home
Bright gold in my pocket
A new bride on my arm.
Come to the door, Mother,
Is Father in the field?
Come to the door, Mother,
Is Father in the field?
We climb the old stone steps
To where my mother lay
In a bed of flowers
To wait for Judgment Day.
Come to the door, Mother,
Is Father in the field?
Come to the door, Mother,
Is Father in the field?
A priest is singing psalms,
Your eyes are tightly closed
Blind to his old prayer book
And words the soft wind knows.
Come to the door, Mother,
Is Father in the field?
Come to the door, Mother,
Is Father in the field?
At your rocky graveside
My lonely father stands
An old man counting beads
Like teardrops in his hand.
Come to the door, Mother,
Is Father in the field?
Come to the door, Mother,
Is Father in the field?
Oh, my dear sad father
Whose deeds have all been done
How did I forsake you
And leave you here alone?
Songs and Letters, May 14, 2005
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Categories: Songs and Letters
Tags: Aging, Death, Memory, Poems, Poetry, Regret, Sadness, Sorrow
William Michaelian 