Sabbath Rain Poem by Jeff Hobbs

Let us bury two birds together;
Two fragile little sacks of skin
holding that which
could have been life.
Cold, wet, blue around the eyes,
little beaks never to peck,
featherless wings.
You dig as I hold
what could have been garbage
in a sacred manner.
They could be us.
And as you arrange a wreath:
yellow, white, purple,
oh, and blue
I shall fashion a cross
They were baptised into death
by the Sabbath rain
Now they lie with broken shell,
covered by earth
celebrated by flowers
consecrated by wood
Remembered by what might be love.

(22 October 1990)