For a Dead Friend
Beneath the naked, naked earth He lies where the bush is wild, But I shall not forget him, Death, The tomb is not for the child.
Where he has gone, on the curling brinks, I hear the waters sing. He quickened the air with careful links, He plucked the stones like a king.
He gathered joy where the blossom fell, He cursed the suns and the skies; O he has gone from our sight and spell But he lives where the wild-rose lies.
He called the hills with a lover’s cry, He laughed when the wet winds formed, He is a child of the earth, and I Shall cower where the grasses swarmed.
Beneath the naked, naked earth He lies where the bush is wild, But I shall not forget him, Death, The tomb is not for the child.
- David Campbell