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!
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