They arrive in droves
And gather upon the grass,
Young and old, men and women
With clothes blacker than starless night.
Heads bowed, listening to silence,
They sway slightly as though blown by the wind,
And look down, eyes focused on the
Coffin.
How did it happen? - Suicide. - No, murder.
Their murmurs rise as time crawls by,
But the mournful air does not subside.
Family, and friends, all have come
Together to see off that man now lying
Dead
In wood; oak it would seem.
Flowers fall upon the bed,
A blanket of roses, lilacs and lilies.
The visitors continue to pray, to mourn, though some
Cannot bear to see longer,
And turn away, or into shoulders
As water slides down their rose-red cheeks.
Silence settles over them again.
The flowers stop falling,
The sobbing silences,
But the mourning goes on,
As they bid their friend
His final farewell.
