Magi-like, we had come all this way for a birth, not a death,
Yet, there we sat, black of garment and of spirit
in the very place where, not two years past,
I had dressed my daughter in virginal white.
I and others, splendid in blue, her favorite color,
Processing down the aisle, eyes shining and sparking
As we met the gazes of our merry band of celebrants,
On our way to the altar where stood the groom,
Triumphant in joy.

This journey swept us forward stumbling, eyes downcast,
Fearing to see into the souls of those gathered,
Not daring to look at the altar,
Upon which our black-haired Eva with rosebud lips
Lay in her snow-white bed,
In which she will sleep until the Resurrection Day kiss of her Prince.

Shattered by loss, we are
Sheltered in the Shadow of the Great Wall of Unscalable Providence,1The Great Wall of Unfathomable Providence, as described by Dr. Michael Milton
Warming ourselves, briefly, by blushing campfires, newly planted,
Hibiscus, Rose, Azalea,
Which hug the earth under their sun-fired petals.

This birth is hard and bitter agony for us,
as we return to our places, haunted by tear-soaked song.
And the grandfathers, pall-bearers, bowing their backs
Under the weight of their small load,
And my son-in-love crying like an infant
In the absence of his infant’s cries,
And my breast-bound daughter,
Weeping and worshiping, as her perfume,
Smelling of cabbage leaves and mother’s milk,
Is wasted,
Like another weeping woman,
Worshiping as she wasted her gift to ready Him for burial.