Blithely

We were all in tearful shock, sharing stories of Dave, passing the tissue box. "What were your best memories?" Thinking about it, there was no question for me. Dave was a poet, and a darned good one, too. He recited one called "Madison's Mourning" that moved me on a soul level, and whenever I had the chance, I'd ask him to perform it. I requested a copy, and he gave me his hand-written copy, that I tucked into my filk book, and later I recopied it into one of my "empty books."

I went out a'huntin' to find that poem, tearing through my filk books, my journals, my stacks of filing, trying to find that poem. Debbie came in from the gaming in the next room to tell me that Peter Alway was on Filkhaven, so I moved over to that site and asked him if he knew where I could find it. "Dave posted a lot of his poetry on LJ. You might find it there." (Lightbulb!)

So I went there and worked through Dave's Archive, going back, and back. There are some wonderful poems in there, including several where Dave was comforting others who experienced the loss of a loved one. Tears, tears, tears...

And then I found it in the 2003 archive, so I'm going to quote it here for you:


"Madison's Mourning"
By Dave Alway, 11/18/2003


The sun sets down behind the trees
The old and ancient druid trees,
The water from the fountain slows
The water slows and then it stops.


I see my breath upon the cold,
A cold as bitter as she was bold:
She stayed far longer than she should
And lived far more than any would.


Lays of the Moon. Lays of the Sun:
Here's an old woman laid low.
Lays of the Sun. Lays of the Moon:
Drifts of the wind-silvered snow.


The girl sat down before our trees,
The old trees with the growing leaves:
She poured the water of her soul;
The water pours and never stops.


Our children work and make and say:
"We grow great and happy today;"
Our children's children are mine and hers,
But few compared to the vast Out There's.


Lays of the Moon. Lays of the Sun:
Here's an old woman laid low.
Lays of the Sun. Lays of the Moon:
Drifts of the wind-silvered snow.


The stars of the North wheel above,
Constant and timeless as my love:
The turning stars, ever slow,
The light from the stars never stops.


Our Humans went to the wand'ring stars:
The land of black and golden flares,
And left me here to harp and play
And dance my hooves to the coming day.


Lays of the Moon. Lays of the Sun:
Here's an old woman laid low.
Lays of the Sun. Lays of the Moon:
Drifts of the wind-silvered snow.