The breeze blows gentle on my face.

The hush of the casket seems louder still

The crowd pushing closer to your resting place

Mesmerizing drone of the ministers voice,

Flowers, intoxicating fragrance fills the air.

Frozen childhood pictures, race thru my mind,

Times shared, moments and memories rare.

Hearts touched by the bag pipes lament

Silence broken now by the sound of tears.

This moment floods the recess of my mind

My soul will cry from the pipes for years.

In total release you surrendered all

Your season passed - You return to the soil.

Inside the casket your body lies cold

But your soul is alive and well with God.

Oh gentle breeze, caress, grow, heal, that I

Lifted on your wings would like and eagle soar.

Til the breeze blows gentle, calling my name

And carries the sound of the pipes no more.

Helen Margaret Burley

July 22, 2002

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