JULIAN CAEDMON DIGGLE

 

The Scattering at Sea on August the 8th. 1999







I see my friends as though through rainwashed glass.


They wait for me with flowers in their hands.


We know that what must be will come to pass


When sea has covered the familiar sands.






The light has all but left the threatening sky


As we four men embark upon our task;


Push off from granite quay and sails untie,


Each one with heavy heart and face a mask.






To comfort her the mourning women stay.


The mother of our lovely boy, my wife,


Who watches as we move across the bay


And thinks upon that precious, savaged life.






The sea is troubled as we leave the port


And tries to loose the burden that I hold.


Head into wind we stop when halfway to the fort.


I shake, not wholly from the gusts and cold.






My friends support me kneeling at the stern


As I pour out the grains into the sea,


Then weep as foresail slowly makes us turn


And my three friends hold fast to me.






Flowers left behind float in our wake.


With wind abaft and billowed sail we ride.


Sturdy measures of his armagnac we take


And toast our memory of his life with pride.






And then the sun came out and warmed us through.


Imagine that! The sweet symbolic sun!


Then back to life this sodden saddened crew,


A mournful task and well and truly done.