On Watching Mr. Rogers Bury a Dead Fish
My grandchildren and I sat
mesmerized,
as he quietly,
carefully,
netted the little silver body,
wrapped it reverently
in a paper towel shroud,
troweled a hole in the yard,
and tenderly lay
the tiny white bundle
in the ground.
He patted the dirt back
like a gentle blessing.
Every so often,
he looked up
to check on us,
to reassure.
He spoke frankly
of sadness and tears,
of the animals we love that die
and how we miss them.
Afterward,
the kids went back
to drawing pictures,
as if the holiness they had just witnessed
were the most natural thing
in the world.
By Maria Brady-Smith
Can you say “lovely poem?”
I just did.
Haha. Thank, Paul.
Deep sigh. The holiness of Mr Rogers and his love for children is perfectly observed in this poem.
Thank you, Barbara. I was trying to capture a really precious moment before it drifted off into oblivion:)
Very nice poem for a very kind man.
Thank you, Gary. He was a great example of simple kindness.