(for Mother)   

The day before your funeral, as I bath my son,   
I tell him. "Tomorrow we are saying goodbye   
to Grandma; - she is going away   
to meet and be with Jesus."   

The knock on the door is our neighbour's child   
hoping to borrow binoculars which we lost years ago.   
She points out the Hale-Bopp comet, bright in the Northern   
sky, visible even above the city lights.   

Because of the biting wind, I return indoors   
to dry my son and my eyes.  

Gerald England. I'm a British poet, living on the edge of the Pennines with my lace-making wife, a son and a Manchester terrier, and work around Oldham as a financial advisor. I've been active on the Small Press Scene for over 25 years and edit New Hope International. My poetry has been published in many countries and been translated into Croatian, German, Japanese, Spanish, Portuguese & Russian.