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.