Visited your bench on Wednesday as did Cathy as well as flowers we left a poem that Dad wrote for you. So much love to you from us and  many many other xxxx

The Bench

I like to think Old Joe watches over him at this place of rest,

For here he was free of demons and happy within himself.
His life cut short by faulty genes, laid down by biology,
What joy and memories he gave us before he slipped away,

I know Old Joe guards over him as he lies beneath the bench,
A part of him lives on, you see, in harmony with nature's fate.
His ashes feeds life anew to plants and bushes growing strong,
In this bed of Eden. "We are here," we say, "his spirit is so near."

In the crisp autumnal evening, Old Joe casts his shadow on the bench.
Students drift by in chattering groups, their daily lectures spent.
The term is ending, time for play, Christmas and New Year parties await!
Life on the run, no time to stop, their laughter fades - they go from sight.

Old Joe's hands keep moving on, towards the appointed hour,
Night closes and the stars sparkle faintly, in the universal sky,
Lifting the loneliness we feel, deep within our aching hearts.
Will memories of our young son, carry us through the dark?

Old Joe strikes three  times, at a quarter to the hour of seven,

This was the time of his passing, I wish I could believe in Heaven,

All is not lost, he's with us now, in mind and spirit still,

Captured in the words for him on the bench beside Old Joe.

Colin and Monica Strawson 

©CJAYS Poem 3rd December 2014