Mouthful Of Ashes Poem by Francie Lynch

I've been at hundred of funerals
Standing beside Fathers
Soon to be posted to Peru
Or to missions for black African babies.
They'd sprinkle caskets like Spring rains,
Burn incense to smudge the dead
With rising smoke signals.
This was Cavalry, not cavalry,
Answering.
I saw the pain in the front pews,
And prayed fervently for the sound of wind
To lift the lid;
Prayed for the candle flame to flare,
For the dead to rise
As Rathgar Lothbrok,
I felt the forced air of the cooling fans
That threatened my candle.
God had a good chance then;
So what odds have I,
That my spilled urn ashes
Will reform for my return?
Corpore
That's praying for too much.
That's asking for a miracle.