Thomasian Sonnet Poem by Tan Pratonix

Row? I knew him; old man died,
Sixty-three; something of the liver, sorry,
Stone in the gall-bladder. He didn't smoke, drank
Sometimes; would always sit in a straight-
Back chair by the window, reading. He
Taught me the cryptic crossword and chess,
But now I'm not interested in them anymore. Thank
God, you could go crazy trying to concentrate!

Only his lean gaunt face, now serene, showed
Out of the linen. There was a Bible at his head
And candles. Flowers? Yes, wilted
Brown stalks, white petals. He left nothing
Behind him, except a family well-settled in the world -
But then, what more do you want?