‘A life well lived,
Humble, generous, hospitable to all’
A eulogy with anecdotes, happy memories,
Attempts at hope and perhaps a future.
Yet, we mourn over its death,
Its life cut in half,
Unjustly at that
It wasn’t fair the way we lost it
Yet life moves on all around it
No longer are we children longing to swing on its branches
But grown-ups, afraid of its swaying in the wind.
Fearful of our homes being destroyed
And therefore destroying the homes in it
We forget its shade
From stormy rains
We forget the hope it gave
On terribly sad days
Can we call it murder? When a life has been broken and bent?
When it’s been uprooted from its source?
Can we call it stewardship? When we fight for a life,
When we ask for it to be free
To grow, to flourish, to provide
How do we find peace in the chaos?
In the whirring of a machine, A lifeless object wedged between what was and what is.
We forget its vibrant green
And choose a plain white hue
For our walls and our windows
That now look out into more walls and windows.
But, do we bury our hope, strength, courage and compassion?
Or like the tree with its seed,
Use this burial to inspire more life