At funerals, we listen as
The anecdotes are shared.
Some speakers prattle off the cuff
While others are prepared.
The congregation laughs when tales
Embody the deceased.
Those chortles let the tears subside
As tension is released.
As relatives and friends reflect,
Each listener may wonder,
What stories will be told of me
When I’ll be six feet under?
A life that lasted decades
Leaves a void, to some, immense;
Yet just a few examples
And that essence we condense.
The mourners may be left with wisps
Defining the departed,
Such quick-drawn sketches meant to soothe
Vignettes can only say so much,
Though comfort they provide.
To those who count, there’s much more left
Than words, when someone’s died.