He rests among the gravestones this Friday morning bright -
He'd been so young to have died that way,
Hit by a van that final Tuesday night.
Your eyes behind tangled black hair, wet, blurring sight,
A need to cry out, to curse this awful day -
He rests among the gravestones this Friday morning bright.
The priest talks on, wondering at God's might -
You grieve for Eddie while the others pray,
Hit by a van that final Tuesday night.
Arm in a sling, trembling, fingers curled tight,
You whisper his name, memories far away -
He rests among the gravestones this Friday morning bright.
You think that your life may never be right,
What pain he suffered only he could say -
Hit by a van that final Tuesday night.
You'd been with him then, feeling things were right,
Happy, not counting on the trick fate would play -
He rests among the gravestones this Friday morning bright,
Hit by a van that final Tuesday night.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem