This is another poem written by Bill and read at his woodland burial in May.
The face of the earth is a graveyard
To which we restore,
Making good our pledge of life,
Resurrecting form and substance borrowed.
Everything that dies is
Wholly renewing and required.
Decay sustains and fully subscribes.
A debt fulfilled,
Life mortgaged to life,
Where plant, animal and man
Loan the joint stock of themselves
And share the material issue.
This teeming pit
Where the shining worm brandles
And turns with its purpose
Is hot with good news.
Death breaks not, but redeems
Which is life’s profit.
Composted soil from the bin
Astounds with seething life.
One spoonful out peoples the earth.
It’s a community sauna rotdown do
Where the springtail
Leaps from the micro-scorpion’s claws
To feast on woodlice poo.
Mazes micro-organic cultures
Where fungi commune with bacteria,
Sweltering, bacchic at the feast of decay,
And insects and worms
Move enriching rituals
To exude life substance
Out of death,
Binding the pact conglomerate.
Kneels and kisses the earth,
Wise beyond his immediate purpose.
Copyright Bill Parkinson revised 2010 for Papal visit