The Ballad Of The Mourner Poem by Sharon Collins
The Ballad Of The Mourner
The snowy blanket where he lies
We were not ready for this goodbye
In silent pain,
the teardrop cries
Hits the snow and makes no sound
Awake this man beneath the ground
Softly, Softly now we tread
No days or nights to wake in dread
With traffic jams inside your head
Shake thyself
You are not dead
Arise and face your day
SC
Thursday, December 8, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: loss
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5/28/2024 6:58:42 PM # 1.0.0.1119
