The finest fire
I’d ever made
Was tonight a pyre
For the sending-off
It happened without rhyme or cause –
Sweet obsidian-eyed creature,
Snow-white coat and softest paws
Then the ruin of harms unknown,
And its owner finally coming forth,
But too late alas,
For I can bring no life to the dying.
Fate steels me to watch, kiss and cuddle
As his soft breath of life departs
The young man who owned him did not understand …
He’d been through too many winters in just twelve,
Our world’s bosom had been naught there but cold,
And tonight more ice grows deep in that heart.
Will he e’er understand … ?
To avail the helplessness
To cleanse this guilt
[For I feel truly helpless]
This pyre is my gift to you, innocent:
So hot it burns that nothing is left;
The perfection of my aged craft
Lives as your perfect final flight,
For after all that has happened,
This is what I know to be right.
Young man, seek your solace
For I can only lend hope,
In the knowledge that your friend
Is now safe from all pain
He will dance and spin, gleam and jig
Among shimmering starfields in golden joy
And perhaps his spirit returns to watch,
Or perhaps he returns from whence he came
To dance in the starfields
And blaze a trail.
Fire, your wings work great deeds tonight.
Twelve feet high in fury-wrought plumes,
You signal all the night to our friend’s return
With a flash of the earth no one will forget.
We release this body to flight
In the clarion-call of sparks.
Embers, carry my last whispers,
As the dismal evening dies,
Of a friend who we loved
With kind wishes on high.