Harold Macdonald's Muse

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Death of a Friend

 

 

Harold Macdonald

Insufficient are my thanks, so small
that even uttering them seems out of place
a pebble being compared to Everest’s face;
his affection filling all in all

causing me a rare humility.
Why write a sonnet, then, when he has died?
Because some tribute ought not be denied
even ‘though beyond the soul’s ability.

I live because of love quite undeserved
because a person gave his heart to me
and not returned in similar degree
for different were the things I served.

Rest in peace and we, with Christ, arise
in glory, when the final day arrives.

 

Midi: Russian Contakion

Background: Mount Everest