Little ladybirds

I used to write when  he was fast asleep
I could concentrate enough and keep my words
Now he sleeps forever in the deep

Will the Resurrection make our bodies leap
Bring back flowers and little ladybirds?
I used to write when  he was fast asleep

He is  vivid presence in my dreams
There his honeyed voice  will still be heard
He’s gone  to dwell where life is dark and deep

In a ray of light, a black sunbeam
Shows the hidden value  of the Word
I used to write when  he was fast asleep

The voice of Place itself  makes widows keen
In the woods, the trees all shake and stir
Yet he sleeps forever in the deep

“God will  give no more than we  can bear”
Must we believe the  traumatized  should learn?
I used to write when  he was fast asleep
Then I’d give him tea and  would not weep

I welcome comments and criticism

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