My grandfather passed away last weekend, so we flew down to Guatemala for the funeral service. As we drove into Antigua, we could see one of the nearby volcanoes, Fuego, sending off red puffs of smoke and lava. From that image I wrote this poem (noting that I don’t usually write poetry, it isn’t my style) for Grandad:
Fuego’s Lament
The volcano spewed fire and ash into the sky,
And from the town below rang a cry,
For he was gone.Fuego mourned his dear old friend,
Shooting smoke out of his head,
For he was gone.The mountain climber’s days at end,
His house filled with grieving friends,
For he was gone.His family comforted by the neighbors,
Friends in all who once were strangers,
For he was gone.Wonderful grandfather, husband and son,
Father, neighbor, and librarian,
Before he was gone.The path he walked was not one of glory,
And yet in many he would live on in memory,
When he was gone.Fire’s tears burned the sky,
As around the world rose up a cry,
Antigua sang its last goodbye,
For he was gone.
