SAD SONG

My previous post referred the Guernsey's doyenne of the arts, Joan Ozanne, who sadly passed away last year.
I wrote the poem, September Song, shortly after attending her memorial service.

SEPTEMBER SONG
In Memory of Joan Ozanne BEM

Outside the parish church, we pause,
exchange the old banalities
we flee to, at such times, because
we cannot face finality,
then nod, acknowledging a friend,
shake sundry hands, and hasten on
but cannot really comprehend
that one so long beloved has gone.

She seemed so permanent and set
on living, never letting go,
to relish life and joy and yet
seemed not to see death as a foe.
The very air appears tight-lipped
as though the earth has ceased to sing.
It is as though the world has tipped
and scattered, headlong, everything.