Funeral (for Victor Nwoye-Atu, Cousin)

Ah, it is spring again
And in my mother's garden
Sunbirds and moths dance
On pungent toadstools

Sure, winter has scarred the land
On its way to the North Pole
By why another blood sacrifice
On the heath of anxious gods?

Yes, indeed, the spring has come
But why must we pound the earth
Just to frighten the rain?