The Cemetery Is Full of Life

They are buried, All ages, In fields not unbroken by roots Quaked by storms. Shouts Drowned in the sky, Ravenous as the wind, When whole pools emerged Like falling rain. Their songs unselected in mists, Beside white lilies that entwined Until the summer poured in wide.

Look there, where Gold finds green, where the damp slopes Wavour the last seasons, teeming with time And untamed fruits relinquished. And above, a canopy spins

• Derek Walcott