Nick Page


So wipe your tears. Death will be no more;
Mourning, crying, pain – no more;
The old, granite door is shattered;
Despair’s huge boulder rolled away.

And look! The storm has cleared.

Tombs become dancehalls;
Stone doors serve as picnic tables;
Graveyards become gardens;
Uncork the wine, break the bread;
For hope and joy and justice have started singing.