On Eagle's Wings

How do you introduce a poem written on the occasion of your mother’s death? How do you choose to breathe that level of grief again? I have moved on, lifted the weight that pressed in waking hours and hovered even in sleep.

So I struggle to properly frame what is to follow.
A poem rediscovered safely tucked inside its original note written by a friend of Mom’s and mine whose honesty records the sounds and images of those very moments in the graveyard with gentleness as fresh and giving as the rain.

That is how poetry serves—capturing a series of moments we are unable to fully apprehend in our hearts and spirits and minds until at a later time we can linger, enriched by the truth and vitality sealed within.

It is with permission and gratitude that I share this poem written by Valerie Connor titled, “The Rain Came Softly Falling.”


The Rain Came Softly Falling

Surrounded by remembrance stones,
Across a carpet of emerald,
Chaired on uneven ground,
Beneath sheltering canvas;
Upon our love, Death came calling
And the rain came softly falling.

Mournful whistle of a distant train
Pulling out of town—
This departure beyond mortal bounds.
We stand with our hats of grief in our hands, listening hard.
Unseen birds are calling
In the rain come softly falling.

Ripples spread across the Lake of Souls
And lap over us, caressing our thoughts,
We try to peer into our mind’s eyes
For images of your face, the sound of your voice
the sparkle that lit your eyes,
And gape at the tear left now in our lives.

Prayer words lifted,
Hymns carried on unsteady voices
Squeezed from lump-filled throats,
And plain words quietly spoken to
Hearts brave but broken.
Angels have come calling,
And the rain comes softly falling.


for Carolyn

Valerie Connor
May 2003