The trees, the scrub, the autumn grasses,
mopokes calling in the night,
The magpie family with its little squabbles,
the humour of cockatoos, the song of the blackbird

the new green on the hills, the smell of wet earth
your father’s footfall on his path,
your son’s chortles,
the willows painting the ground yellow
even the air, filled with rain or music, or the song of pine

for someone dead,
you’re very present,
my son

Miklós’ forest

To everyone present at Miklós’ ceremony, and those who couldn’t be there but wished they could, thank you so much for your love and support, your presence, and your friendship. I will post the few poems that I read for him, over the next couple of days…

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