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
an emptiness,
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.