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- Jesse Stuart, Sonnet #678 from Man with a Bull-tongue Plow 1934.
Maybe there is the sound of windless rain,
The steady thump of rain on my grave rock;
I have no way to tell with his dead brain
The sound of rain that's ticking like a clock.
Though flesh is close related to the time;
My ears are deaf to any ticking sound
Though life is close related to the rhyme;
What chance has one now lying underground?
And then to think each one comes and takes his turn.
Each man's a god and each is crucified—
Each goes back to the dirt and grass and fern
After the temple of his flesh ahs died.
Each comes and goes and each must go alone;
Each life is dirt and time and rhyme and stone.
It had been raining since Sirius left shortly before dawn, stealing out through the secret tunnel to Hogsmeade and buying a ticket on the Local. It took 2 hours to Doncaster, and another hour from there on the Muggle line. He wished he hadn't failed his apparition test twice; he wished it had been good flying weather. There'd be hell to pay when he got back: the school generally frowned on students running away.
He'd nicked all of Remus' Muggle money (Remus wouldn't mind, he thought, and besides he'd pay him back in Galleons) and was shocked that all the paper and coins barely covered the train fare. He'd have liked to buy a sandwich; he settled for vile coffee in a paper cup and hoped that he had enough to hire a car when he got there.
He leant his head against the cold window and watched town fade into fields, watched the lorries moving sluggishly along rain-slick roads, watched the swollen muddy river twist away to the sea. This storm would be the end of autumn, stripping the last leaves from skeletal trees. Its bitter cold pressed against the glass, driving itself into even the brightly-lit carriage; he wouldn't be surprised if it froze at night. Sirius pulled James' black coat tighter around himself. It did not help that the coat smelt of Lily Evans.
There were no cars for hire at the station, but the girl in the office said it was only thirty minutes down the road, dead easy to spot, and lent him an umbrella from the Lost Property bin.
He was cold, wet, and exhausted when he arrived; he was also late. He could hear music faintly through the heavy oaken doors. There was no one about, so he cast a quick drying charm. He'd not been able to ask for advice about clothing, but he assumed that the school uniform, minus his robes, would suffice.
The music had been a good thing, he decided, as it meant everyone in the church was standing, making it easier for him to slip into the back pew. Unfortunately, this put him directly behind McGonagall and Flitwick, but there was nothing that they could do now. He hoped. Flitwick reached back and took Sirius' arm. He very casually pulled Sirius forward through the pew he was standing on, to stand between himself and McGonagall, who made a small disapproving noise.
Sirius raised his head. He could just make out Remus' brown hair at the front, and the woman at his side Sirius knew to be his mother, although they'd only met twice. Remus wasn't looking back, didn't know he was here, but Sirius felt something, and he knew. He knew he'd been right to be here, to see Remus' father laid to rest.