The Eternal Wandering

Procession moves on, the shouting is over 
Praise to the glory of loved ones now gone 
Talking aloud as they sit round their tables 
Scattering flowers washed down by the rain 
Stood by the gate at the foot of the garden 
Watching them pass like clouds in the sky 
Try to cry out in the heat of the moment 

Possessed by a fury that burns from inside. 
Cry like a child, though these years make me older 
With children my time is so wastefully spent 
A burden to keep, though their inner communion 
Accept like a curse an unlucky deal 
Played by the gate at the foot of the garden 
My view stretches out from the fence to the wall 
No words could explain, 
No actions determine 
Just watching the trees and the leaves as they fall.