Durham Cathedral,14th November 2015 Poem by William Fay

I.

Tonight I light this candle;
To watch a quiet flame,
Sigh, then awake,
Like the black wing come slow
Through the darkening room.

Too young to know, your grandaughter,
Lights another in this cathedral;
The shrine of a saint,
Who might be your guide,
Through that other kingdom,
A far and silent house,
From where none return....

Yet in the glow, lost spirit
As I recall a waxy hand lifted,
Too weak to grasp,
I feel your soul returning
Defiant as fire and language,
And too late, I talk to you.


II.


This November, a wild frost forms
Too quick across the fields,
Across the roofs of sad towns;
Within the hearts of us all,
Tethered like stone
To this bitter earth
To this moment of life.

Tonight I light this candle.
Then wait to know once more
After the spark and fire,
This wisp of pale smoke,
The sweet memory of a flame;

The colour of your last flowers,
By a jug of water, abandoned
Too quick in an empty hospice room,

Or the bright blackbirds beak,
Biting at this icy cloister grass;
The green turning to winter stone,

Or after night the heavenly orange
Of the sun rising, open armed,
On this my mother your birthday.