Digging

The funeral cars. lights on, were moving out across the much familiar travelled road, a stronger male, the coach. was digging out his P. O. box ~ "is moving from the flood!" The elder in the ground, the grocer's lot a Mother, hospitality's begot had served for many years, the hungry towns, now nestled with her own, the same as crowned! So many years - fulfillment has its plot to nurture from the core ~ then be forgot is not the vestige' moor, 'tis now the heart remembrance as a store, good times and not! To see it, parallels do not take seam within one moment's span ~ my cornered block, the stronger coach ~ his shovel, P. O.'s box and then the coffin's resting on its ream. The grave is ready, empty chairs in row all readiness, the digging seems bestow as action, one moves up, other below, it is the strength in kind that says it so! Thus rounding just my corner, this once more held all of living's wisdom in one toll we spend our life in digging to and fro, the old, the young, the in-betweener's goal! I said goodbye, the grocer's mother's sow now down to Earth, the strong coach on the go, I thought it through, the mound, the shovel's flow all moving at a pace ~ digging's escrow! And to the Coach, his next assignment's fate made friendly comment, mine not under-rate, the mail I gathered rightly at the road, tomorrow's fate not estimate . . . the score!