Upon a horse drawn carriage
Dressed in his Sunday best
He lies adorned in flowers
Carried away and laid to rest
The black beauties that carry him
Gently canter upon the gravel
On a dreary wet British morning
As the band plays old Ravel
The mourners follow behind
With black laced veils and top hats
White cotton handkerchiefs
Long coats and silk cravats
The undertakers lower him down
As his loved ones watch on
They weep as they throw in the dirt
And whisper goodbye Dear John
Lovely work, Nicola. You are a fine word painter. Warm regards, Sandra
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beautifully dark. A stunningly visual poem. Love it. Jxx