Mourning Is the Meal

I made a meal for you and me but my plate was bare -- save the porcelain -- one for you The truth of this matter as surely you may know I cannot eat a meal alone So I watch your plate and silver fork and know where this scene shall go -- as my thought wanders across the big Unknown. Today I placed a vase of flowers upon your burial stone -- in the rain and mourning is the meal I eat alone. ::/::