Four Bodies Poem by Dennis Lange

I passed the place four crosses mark;
I shook my head and sighed.
The flowers draped upon them live -
It was four youths that died.

The intersection is a grave
Where spirits, restless, roam,
As they would do at any tomb
That keeps them from their home.

I felt one run across my mind
As I was passing through.
It was unsettled, churning foam,
And I was troubled, too.

An afternoon of frolic o'er,
Like fall when color's passed,
The highlights of the day all gone;
The talk and laughter - last.

What happened as their curtain closed,
So they were crushed or flung?
What note was on their lips or hearts,
The final song they sung?

The red eye glared; they did not see.
Was it a tale one told?
Or was it, 'Would you look at that? '
Or something else fool's gold?

Lives perch upon the precipice,
And men remain or fall
For causes of the greatest worth,
Or some not great at all.