I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground
So it is, and so it will be, for it has been, time out of mind
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely
Crowned with lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned
Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew
A formula, a phrase remains - but the best is lost
The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love -
they are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses of the world.
Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave
But I do not approve.
And I am not resigned.
“Following a stroke, her recovery was remarkable.
She had three extensive head-to-toe examinations by the NHS who could find nothing amiss.
Four days following the third all-clear examination I was told that my mother had three weeks to live.
Nine days later she had withered and died without any attempt by the NHS to save her life.
Once the NHS waves you off with paracetamol, get ready to meet your maker.
The official cause of my mother’s death was not the trendy and unquestionable “covid” - but, instead, cancer of the gallbladder … which had gone undetected by the NHS during their three thorough investigations.
How I wish to all gods that my mother had expressed no faith in the NHS.
She might still be alive today.”