Walking under the wrought iron
archway to the amphitheater
with its hard Methodist benches,
a dark durable wood
that had absorbed so many songs,
I paused and thought of Daddy
who had missed so much living,
sorry for the irretrievable loss of it.

I could picture so much life here,
bodies packed tight in the pews,
blue-backed hymnals, voices
raised loud and pure.  A fellowship
of believers.  Now only ghosts
remain.  How he would
have loved it.  Grief anew.