The Village Sings

The Village Sings

Let us sing for the barber
who died with the turn of year,

for all the heads he trimmed and shaved,
for the Cussons Original Brilliantine,

the squat red pots of Brylcreem
and the Vernon’s Pools he sold,

with something for the weekend, sir?
Let us sing for his razors and shears,

for all the parcels he took in
when we weren’t there, the change he gave

from his dark and woody shop.
His coffin was custom-made.

Let us sing for his raucous laugh,
his busted shoes and fat feet,

for the silence he left to be buried
in the snow-wrapped ground.

Let us sing. Sing it loud.


Lynne Rees

Posted over on her site Applehouse Poetry Workshop