44 Remembering the Hornbill-final

Remembering The Hornbill

Buddhadasa Bhikkhu

Chatty Lord Hornbill … kruk … krik …
pecking my back as if to scratch it.

All the times you threw my sandals around
playing, dragging, shoving them about like a tractor.

Now you’ve died, gone and left us
after landing on a high power transformer.

One foot burnt to a crisp, your last breath
no peacock’s screech could compare.

The hearts of everyone who knew you
skipped a beat when they got the news.

No matter how or where, whoever dies
having lived virtuously can’t really sadden anyone.

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