elegy for a dead dad

Upon the season’s sultry breeze
the lilac wastes her perfumed breath,
while sunlight streams through trembling trees
to light the land of midnight death.

The swallows sigh upon the wing,
with swift and song thrush singing soft.
And eagle, on his throne, as king
above the clouds soars safe aloft.

And I, a mortal, dare to dream,
though I am quintessential dust.
Beneath the sky, I vainly scheme
to fight my fears with faith and trust.

But oh, my father, where are you
on this sad summer’s soulless day?
From bones now cold and steely blue
does soul, set free, still pine away?

Beside your long-neglected grave
I sit, all statuesque and stare,
as glimmer of the life you gave
pours through my veins like pilgrim’s prayer.