SUNSET SYNDROME

They have passed one after the other;
Father and mother died,
Brother and sister and brother
Taken and sanctified.
I am left alone in the sitting,
With none to sit beside . . .
The pillars are twisted with holly,
And the font is wreathed with yew
Christ forgive me for folly,
Youth’s lapses – not a few,
For the hardness of my middle life,
For age’s fretful view.