so how are you now?
if death is kind you do not rest in peace,
you were given too little joy on earth for that to be your fate –
maybe you’ll do it later
when your need for fun is fulfilled.
I hear your laughter echo in the distance
as you direct naughty winds to silly, harmless deeds,
lifting policemens’ hats from their heads;
playing tricks with impish glee;
dropping feathers on my shoulder
to see how long they cling;
stealing rides on tops of trains;
altering the colours of hidden underwear;
opening buds, that petals may gleam in the wrong season;
flying to distant lands that only live in dreams,
to return when the moon is on the wane.
smiling with the wisdom of eternity,
as you stroke the hair from our sleeping faces,
wishing to ease away the vestiges of pain
and yet knowing, as we do not
that within the backdrop of all that is
our hurt is but a little thing.
©Jane Paterson Basil