As if attempting to wake her up,
But for fear of stirring her peace
Or of spilling his tears,
His knuckles sank
Stiffly upon the box,
Quieter than a wreck scuttled in the blue.

He pulled his gaze away,
Scrunched a sob of despair
Into a grunt,
Whilst his fingers waded across
The cold and glassy


Colin Lee


After attending a funeral last Friday, the widower’s farewell with his wife has stuck in my mind ever since.

Photo Courtesy: Pixabay

9 thoughts on “Knock

Add yours

    1. Thanks for reading, Imelda. Another friend of mine had just lost his fathet yesterday. It does make me reverberate upon your thought. Oh, how does one live on?


  1. that you take a moment to be part of his farewell, silent and spoken grief is a bond we cannot see, yet it’s there. Tis a fearful thing to love what death can touch, never have words been so true. Despair, you write that word and I think it is the most poignant description of grief. I love this poem for your tender observation and respect.


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