Goodbye, Gaston - Poem by Frederick Kesner
My uncle, Gaston,
mum's elder brother, ,
died whilst I cradled him
in the crook of me arms.
He lay there bliss-filled;
Faint lustre of his boyhood charms.
It was a waiting game
and he was hanging on.
He held back grim Reaper's blade
Unmindful that he'd had it made.
I whispered in his ear
About the good times,
our common dreams;
how it was okay to let go,
to forgive and be forgiven.
Then off he floated, by candle's glow,
like the silent flutter of wispy snow.
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Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
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