A Wedding At My Funeral - Poem by Robert Rorabeck
The time has not come before
And this is new.
The light is opening for the day
An ingénue displaying her bosom
To man’s face-
I remember when
I was young in following her.
Her tassels feeling through the trees
And drinking roots,
She laughed even while
She rode her bicycle across campus.
I staid up all night and prayed for her.
When tired, she slept
In the shade of a house-
Eyes half closed. I came to her,
She yawned and turned me away.
She said she loved me
Only when she was drunk,
And it was yet that time-
So long ago, yesterday....
Then early this morning she came to me
And offered me the quaff
Dripping nectar on the limbs,
She said, “Never before now, old man, ”
As they lowered me in the grave,
Her light budded
A valleyide of rubrum,
A wedding at my funeral.
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