As it should

A little before 
Half-past five on a Sunday morning,
The nursing home phoned to tell me 
My father had died at precisely 5.13am.

I remember thinking, 
Is it still ok to send him my love?
But it was a short conversation
And there was no more to be said.

As I lay back in bed,
The rain fell.
A short, sharp, Spring, shower. 

I remember thinking,
I wonder if the soul 
Is like the rain in reverse, 
Pixelated silver drops rising.

Then the rain stopped  
And the dawn chorus resumed. 

I remember thinking,
I wonder if that is the angels
Singing for my Dad as he arrives
At the pearly gates. 

But it was simply the 
World turning,
As it should.

May 2022