When pump is weakened, bellow fades,
the heart is stopped and life is drained
as with old organ in the loft,
whatever stop need be applied,
there chewing mice cause Silent Night.
But with intended rhythm drive
the beat is set for harmony,
as past, when test, the trumpet, ear
was lowered to chest cavity,
to check if pulse still pumping there.
That is the only measure counts,
caused inspiration, airs recalled.
But when the autopsy allowed,
and instruments perform their trade,
they cannot tell, how Christmas Eve,
her time was up, the act conceived,
her laboured breathing at an end.
Her husband held her weak-grip hand
and hummed the tunes, her mother’s knee,
as she prepared for gush of flood,
and transport to another peace.
She knew the tears, her journey fears,
but hear, the melodies of love,
for all was well, Emmanuel.
Stephen Kingsnorth (Cambridge M.A., English & Religious Studies), retired to Wales from ministry in the Methodist Church, has had over 200 pieces published by on-line poetry sites, including Poetry Potion, printed journals and anthologies. https://poetrykingsnorth.wordpress.com/