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