How can it be he is no longer here?
How can it be I do not hear that voice
His presence haunts me from his battered chair
Though I have money and no needs to bare
I feel the grief, the affect of his choice.
How can it be that he has vanished here?
What is the world when loss turns to despair.
When every sheet by weeping is made moist?
His presence haunts from his beloved chair
Now we learn the symbol of the hare
Unpeaceful, hunted, jugged or humdrum roast
How can it be when love should counter fear?
Into the real, we stand and longtime stare
We’re begging, blaming, badgered, shamed and gassed
Some presence feints with ours in death’s own lairs
Now the world of man has long surpassed
The time we could blame God for what we ‘ve missed
How can it be that He is never here?
His absence haunts: symbolic, suffered, real.
How my heart sings 
A tender, loving poem, Katherine, full of unanswerable universal questions that are asked daily by many people across the globe and have been asked for thousands of years by men and women feeling grief. A sweet poem. Thank you.
Thank you so much,David.I also waas referring to the Death of God at the end.Everyone hereis going crazy with Brexit.Maybe we should pray? Warmest wishes,Kathy
I’ve been following your poltical problems from afar, but we have our own political problems here that I’ve gotten very tired of. My best to you as always, David
I think yours may be worse,David.Let’s pray we all get through thishorrible time