The Third Field
The child who walks me to the third field
takes me on pilgrimage into limbo and liberation.
I don’t want the site mown or tidied up or made respectable.
I don’t want the wild flowers sprayed with poison,
the humps and hollows levelled and the hedges cut back.
The third field where the dead sleep is full
of peace and richness and tranquility.
Within it life and death embrace and rise up as wild flowers.
Michael Coady