Mausoleum Poem by Chas Weeden

The mausoleum echoes my soft steps
Down long corridors of marbled crypts -
My father loved to hike and fish.

Stairs, a left, then right and at the end,
On a lower tier, I find his name
William - but only one ‘L' remains.

I gently touch the name of he who gave
Me the patience to cast in stream's cascade,
Then tenderly a Brook Trout to play.

But as I do his ‘I' falls to floor -
The noise clatters down the corridor;
I pick it up but cannot restore.

The mausoleum is silent as I weep.
Down these halls, each night a man with broom sweeps
Letters into drawers and there to keep.