“Across The Pond”
I saw them gathered on that day –
Six men whose friend had passed away;
The seventh man made up a group
Of friends, who’d walked their daily loop.But it was as they knelt to pray
I saw one rise and walk away;
The mist enveloped him forthwith;
’Till end of prayer he was not missed.’Twas then I understood the scene,
And role that seventh man had been –
The friend to each and every man,
But that was it – deceased, they ran –Well, in their spirits, “Out of here
Is where I wish to go”, for fear
Of dealing with each other friend,
Was far too much at seventh’s end.Within the hour all men were gone;
They’d each remained past prayer and song,
Then each caught up to selves who’d left;
’Cept me – there quiet on the step.I there remained, then sixth came back;
He paid respects, for he had lacked
The strength to there remain and pray,
With other five on seventh’s day.When he had finished, he took up
The spade beside the grave – enough
For him to shovel in that grave,
And pack it down as final wave.Then he departed in the mist,
Not seeing me (not of his list
Of mourning friends – I, far too young
To be a part of battles won).I waited quiet ’till the night
Fell on that scene – for there’d been light
Upon dynamics of those friends –
Five small bouquets saw night descend.I often wondered if those guys
Found, in the acts of other five,
A spark that led to friendship’s strength
In days ahead through journey’s length.As sun descended, leaving dark,
I rose to sleep – for I’d embark
Next morning with six older men –
I too had been the seventh’s friend.But they’d not seen me on the stoop;
I was not part of elders’ group;
They’d never seen me watch that day
As they their final gifts there laid.Six years flowed on in our new land;
Within that time I’d lent a hand
In filling in six graves, ’till all
Were joined with seventh – first one called.For I had opened graves before –
Secured that job on foreign shore;
Still, no one knew at misty scene
Of parting, in the past, I’d been.At each, first other five were there,
Then four, three, two, expressed their care;
Now, at the last, I fill this grave,
And pack it down – bouquet I lay.Their gifts to me? Seven men have walked
Their silent journeys – seldom talked
That I could see – just memory
Of bond with seventh man, not me.But now I start, at story’s end,
To tell this yarn – their ways depend
For comprehension on their past –
Friend number seven, re-joined at last.Thanks Lord for this.
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