Funeral - Poem by A.J. Ryan
I was eight and at the graveyard.
I missed a day of school,
But that was a small star
In a dark night sky.
All was wearing black,
It matched the leaking water tanks in the sky.
Along with the descending coffin
Dropped our heads and our moods.
Tears streamed down saddened faces,
While the red roses thrown
Were the speechless goodbyes
Of those who couldn't force out words.
We gathered after at the pub
For a drink or five.
Contagious laughs passed
With spreading jokes, but
A cloud of depression still
Lurked by the ceiling,
And mixed with the smoke
From cigarettes set alight.
All felt twelve feet under,
Never mind the base-low six.
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