Religion has been privatised like gas
I know in church we still can hear the Mass
Yet no Chaplain comes to dying men
I did my best alone without a plan.
Inside the holy sanctuary bare
I became the priest and comforter
I sang the sacred songs and gathered crowds
Outside our little cubicle they bowed
I saw a canopy of golden cloth
Hanging down from heaven, as it does
It came nearer till it touched his soul
I was silent, love can’t take control
For a moment everything was still
A little bird sat on the windowsill
Then the cloth of gold was lifted high
I wept the precious tears for those who die.
That one eternal moment gave us grace
I see your sunny eyes, your smiling face
How my heart sings 
It was how my husband died
It’s your whole life that prepares you for it and their life as well.
My mouth just opened and I began too sing psalms.
This blog post beautifully captures the personal and intimate experience of finding solace in religion during difficult times. The imagery of the canopy of golden cloth reaching down from heaven is particularly poignant. I would love to know what inspired you to write this poem and delve into the themes of spirituality and mortality. How do you believe religion can provide comfort in times of loss and uncertainty?
Thank you very much for your beautiful comment I will think about what you have said and see how I can respond.Katherine