There were only four at the end, just four, To witness the last sad ritual; Oh, and of course a priest, Weary and perfunctory, With another office to perform in an hour. The guilty husband, the teary father, the angry son And curiously to some, the husband’s mistress; Gathered in the echoing empty crematorium, Each displaying various degrees of regret and distress As they contemplated the eternal mystery Of our human frailty and her precious departed spirit; Quia multum amavit.
Paul, a poet following the tradition of the land of his birth, was born and raised in the small village of Caerau, in the beautiful Lynfi valley of South Wales, and is now resident in Bristol, England. He has enjoyed a variety of different ‘careers’, including working on archaeological excavations, and for many years earning his living as a professional artist. He has travelled extensively in Europe, with an especial love for the cities of Paris, Florence and Venice, and has a great interest in philosophy, literature, history and the arts, which is reflected in his work. Paul says that he searched for years to find the right medium to truly express his ideas, and at last found the answer in poetry, something he has read and enjoyed all his life. In his own words, ‘When I started writing verse, I felt like a prodigal son being welcomed back to the home I left, many years, and many choices ago.’
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Paul Carpenter - Poet 