Her coffin slowly drops into the ground,
the little group of mourners huddles there,
all standing pokerfaced, without a sound,
the vicar speaks his lines without a care...
I watch and gulp the frosty morning air.
Although I hadn't been there when she died,
my heart is breaking, overflowing grief;
it's been so many years now since she'd lied -
and yes, although our love had been so brief,
our feelings never died (that's my belief).
And as the rest depart, I stand alone
to wonder if she somehow knows I'm here.
My ear detects a sudden muffled moan -
has she been buried still alive? I fear,
or is she telling me: 'I know you're near'?
written 22nd July for Constance's Q contest - Death
Copyright © jack horne | Year Posted 2022
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