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samuel munachim


Grieving Like a Fulsome Song


Grieving like a fulsome song
Harps the exit of the loved
Wreaths will curtain on the pane
As with pain the loser sighs

Mournful irony will quip
That his loss is disguised boon
Lesser pain perhaps, but this?
We must let him still to weep

He will cry and rent the air
Quarreling with God or fate
Asking why it must be him
Puzzle no one can resolve

Quizzes of the same allure
Leaved etched lines above the eyes
Raised and stoic like the priest's
Causing one to age with speed.

Submitted: Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Edited: Saturday, August 14, 2010
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