Extended Eulogy For Hussein Alasdair McGaw, 15 (Obsequies)

But Hussein - he to whom highplains were hypelanes
if not hip to how highest’s plain as ‘Hi!’ is
- Huss has landed under the land now.
Should his soul skyve samsara, he’d feel being under 
the buried fodder which muscularises summer, 

’cause Captain Wateringcan is muckedin, 
perished yet still fecunctioning, succubitus
felix, eco cog in unfurlatron Spring’s
sunhunting structuration. He’s invisible
paramourapostle o’ Proserpina, consecratively composting
Colney Wood from 6foot underfoot, growth goddess and him
lovers thru loam, growstuffing oak offspring.

I bet his dervishjig’s step of expiry
also sired a sprig, that where he put
his so well sole sowed zooming plumule
of a preflower, even celeritous petiole,
a parting shoot miraculously radiclefree, 
from spectral soil on the eroded carpet,
next to a morphinedriverdialled bed
at the Priscilla Bacon lodge, where Matt ‘n’ Wayne
- of Thetfordmatt’n’waynefame - paced and wept,
their vigil’s outlets sipt by the Spring in his
dervish jig’s stop.

Tho’ Hussein hasn’t…To no finitude leads the fertile
footprint left when his lifeforce lept, when he flew
belief’s bounce of maybelessness loose of all lay airs,
netherethernaut then ethernaut then offreach even for the
yesterether thatyooster be held to weld all air and nebulair.
He’s uppedandabovedit to mother, father and larger father
who mothers a Garden, rose with the ease 
of the guardianangel he was to me, 
hoverscross Elysian phantasmaflora 
of Greek spook asphodels and desert daffodils,
gone to Allah’s sevenstoried bower.
It’s home for the Highest’s bowers when they bowout high
on the inexistence of doubt - invites only, no infidels!