The bell rings for remembrance. We obey
Its call: we reach with hands of faith to touch
Lost fingers of the fallen so they may
Receive this next instalment from the much
We owe to those who went ahead, whose blood
Was spent for good, for ill, for its whole worth.
Now frayed and faded images in wood
Are bone-by-bone mute witness under earth.
Mark’s blood betrayed him. His remembrance day
Is poppy-studded, wears its suit ill-pressed,
Finds tears choke words of love we long to say –
Until deep laughter helps recall him best.
Under that plain cross on light-dappled wall
We hear his song: “God is my all and all.”
For Mark Autherson, 1971-2008