The Funeral

Saskatchewan Landing sunset

Her heart is a sinking sun,

pooling patches of dried blood

on a canvas thickening

with yesterday’s paint. Tucked in

rich velvet and laid to rest

(open to public viewing)

she mourns its passing, pressing

treasured lines of scrawled script to

lips of stone, epitaph carved in

lieu of flowers. Rays of light,

the glory days of holding

and being held, protrude from

memories slashed through the frayed

places where sky meets casket’s

edge. The sun will rise again

but not today, not until

a thousand tomorrows have

burned to ashes, cremation’s

signature on cloud-sealed urn.


You Call My Name


You call my name in the garden,

in tones of purest sunshine.

I hear,

and come out of my tomb,

my ears cradled

in the radiance

of this voice

that can wake the



Spotted Deadnettle in bloom

For a devotional on this topic, visit Growing With God in My Garden




When ageing tent is laid aside,

my truest bloom will burst from husk

and, far from laws of earthen tide,

my heart won’t fade into the dusk

but blossom strong, by Love’s design,

free of pest and storm’s alarm;

to my best purposes, aligned,

free to flower, free from harm.


A Death Is Announced

White Peony

We are gathered here today

to remember Spring –

not as she was in her final days, but in her prime;

robust.  Green.  Alive.

As you all know,

she hasn’t been herself for quite some time now.

May the memories we have

of better, happier,

warmer days with her

be our joy and consolation.

She will live on in our hearts,

and in our vacations

taken in far away, sunnier places.

Please console each other as best you can,

for our grief over her passing so soon

is a difficult burden to bear.

Good-bye, Spring, good-bye.

Memorial donations may be made

out to Melody Lowes,

her long-time friend.

Melody plans to build an arboretum in Spring’s honour

in which to grow

the lettuce and spinach she craves this time of year.

Thank you all for coming,

and sharing in our moment of grief…

Of Birth and Death


Window to another world

where Narnia is freed at last,

where what the winter wind has hurled

can settle into Ice Age past.

Death to one sounds living knell,

 swan song’s notes to bury snow;

 Spring arises from its shell

as Winter sinks to grave below.

A Death is Announced


Wisps of frost on aging head,

wrinkled creases, wisdom’s crown;

joints to pain and creaks are wed,

Folds replace a youthful gown.

Even so, her smile is strong

though sorrow lines her blinded eyes;

beauty marks her dying song

as Winter sings her last good-byes.