Old apple tree
There is an apple tree
At the bottom of the garden
Where my brother and I once played
Swinging on branches
Climbing high and low.
Tree has stood a century
Giving September crop of apples
Now in my old age a shrine
With memories of childhood.
There is an apple tree
Where I often go and sit beneath
And if I listen very hard
I hear my brother’s happy cries
As we climbed high and low.
Shea
Brave heart in wheelchair
Communicates with smiles
Twinkle of eyes
Beloved son and brother.
Shea the cherished
Daily showing courage
Supported by family
Parents and sister supreme.
Bones at dying
Bones at dying shall not quake
Nor decay with feasting of the worms
For the spirit of this God loving soul
Shall never harbour in the ground.
Breaking free with that force
Which drove each flower into the light
Soul tossed by furies from purple storms
Sheltering where the mind creates its visions.
