Wilbur Poem by Martin Byrne

I am in Octember days, friend.
The ones that exist in limbo.
The rain that falls is so unexpected.

The pitter patter against the window green
The graveyard dust rises in the wet scene.

Some cross the site
With rude gestures...

Laying underground in the gold casket
Is a comfortability and ease afforded
To me
By the monitary expenses of Love
and the Love itself

But Marriage is not the job today
And the preacher is laughing at death.