Thoughts At A Funeral Mass - Poem by Bill Munn
Death can come as a whisper
a welcome breeze that
ends the oppressive heat
of August in a Southern clime.
Or it can come crashing in
leaving in its wake
a small hole
that slowly fills with passing time.
Did she live her life?
I think not.
Rather life took her through a maze of days
that soon became one like another
in housework, and children, and pleasing
a man she thought she loved,
because to think otherwise
would have been more
than she could bear.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You