Monday, 29 September 2008

Sad Sundays

Our son died on a Sunday morning, he had gone to work as he did every Sunday to do the milking for a farmer that he had worked for for many years. He knew the herd very well and had assisted more than a few of them into this world. Amongst them was his favourite cow, Whiskey. This is how I think about that morning.

Sunday Morning

Soft mist over cool green Devon fields
Dew sparkling in the early morning sun
A gentle breeze murmuring through the hedges.
Cows with kindly brown eyes
Stand in silent confusion, heavy with milk,
First a patient lowing then
A shifting of their hooves
A quickening of their breath
A snort, a nudge.
But still the steady drone of the tractor
Stopped forever in a moment of time.

Then the sound of sirens, all peace destroyed
The herd scatters, then when all is quiet
They return silently
Carefully probing the empty tractor.
For a moment they are lost
Something has changed.
But the call of the Milking Parlour is strong
And they must answer.
Only one remains
Whiskey remembers.

10 comments:

Debs said...

So beatifully written and so heartbreakingly sad.

Hugsx

Lane said...

That's the most beautiful poem and so utterly sad.

Love to you Sheepish. x

JJ said...

Lovely images. I'm so sorry.

Zinnia Cyclamen said...

That is so atmospheric, so evocative. Beautiful. (((((hug)))))

SpiralSkies said...

Oh Lord... you convey it all so heartbreakingly...

Leigh said...

I can see the field and the cows and the tractor.
Sheepish, I am so sorry.
I think about you a lot and wonder how you are.
Thank you for posting.
x

Butch Boo said...

So sorry- beautiful and heart breaking.

Virtual hug

Scott Pack said...

I feel like a terrible eavesdropper arriving at your blog for the first time today, but thank you for this beautiful poem.

Makes me want to make the most of today.

jeff@sally said...

Thank you for stopping by my blog. I have been remiss about writing lately. I am so sad to hear about the loss of your son. July 20th is also the day we lost our son but a year before you. The pain seems to get worse around 3 months as the numbness wears off and the horrible reality of life without your baby sets in. Now, over a year out, I am finally living through a week or two at a time without weeping. But I still get hit with waves of agony as I remember full force how much I miss my boy. Hang in there and stop by anytime.

Anonymous said...

My son died in 1992. He was eleven years old. The pain does lessen but never goes away entirely. I have just reclaimed my farmhouse where we lived...I've been writing about it in my blog Donegalfarm.blogspot.com.
thank you for the beautiful poem...writing helps.