They do death good
Walk among phantoms
with a spring in the step
Take kids in royal prams
for a picnic Light candles
for night strolls when the snow
falls in duck down Etch
a rock, snip a hedge into
a green armchair Profiles
of Nan and Pa face-to-face
in an almost-kiss.
Even the Angel of Death,
fat cherub, grins from a shingled
roof. Hans Christian looks on
from a plain brown stone,
clipped and smart.
They make it art,
not like Sylvia, but good.
They make it sing.
Julie Maclean 