The Funeral Dirge of Mother Earth

Published October 30, 2013 |


Leaves turning brown,

Returning to the ground

Like scattered ashes,

Mournful and still,

Crunching under foot.


Our funeral dirge

As we all march in rhythm.

Nature’s sweet sway,

Our lullaby.

The divine herald call,



Calling us home,

To tables set

Heavy-laden with feasts

Of brown bread and honey

And all the sweetness in life.

Put thee behind me Satan,

I have no time for you anymore.



Time fading onward.

Like this pair of old blues

I forget to throw into the wash.

We scold each other,

It’s an old joke by now.

I’ll just wear them again.

As I march that path again today,

My new familiar path,

Stopping sometimes short,

No one is watching anyway.

Just God and the sparrows.


I think I’ll stop here,

Pretending to notice a new tree,

Or grass growing

Green beside my favorite leaning-tree.

I catch a new breath

And slowly wipe these crooked twigs down these aging blues

Hardly recognizing them anymore.

My father’s hands,

Grandfather’s hands.

I didn’t need this many pauses


And yesterday,

And yesterday.




Time marching on.


My prayer to the archangels

Holding watchful gazes,

Silent and tall,

Bending and swaying

In rhythm with the trees–

That old pine and this young cypress–

Our song to God and the planet.

My prayer to Christ,

My Father-Mother and to



My Higher All-Knowing Self.

Time stops for no man

But it will slow for me.

The dirge here in procession

Is for all humanity.


Slow the clock in this holy circle,

This Eden lost and found,

Back and forth

And on it goes.

As we lightworkers of Sun and Moon,

Gather together Sister Brother,

And call forth from end to end,

Sea to Sea.

We send beacons high,

We send roots down low.

We send love thick as winter molasses,

Running over every hurt heart–

Soothing this world’s shortcomings

Stopping quick, before the end.


We see the end to the end of days.

We see the end to the dark of night.

We bring the end to suffering.

We bring the joy to joyless,

And rest to the weary at the end of his fight.



Sleep long now child who has suffered

To keep the lamps burning.

Sleep long child who has fought hard to keep the illusion alight!


This is the end of your battle,

But not the end to all children

Of Mother Earth

Who is ready to unveil the truth for all

Listen to our dirge

– We’re not quite ready yet–

This light is not ready

To be extinguished

Isaiah told to me.

There are yet

Champions loving,

And so we work


On and on,

And on,

And on,

We go!



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