“Death can never separate us. Each time you feel a gentle breeze, It's my hand caressing your face.” By Mary Lucas The first bell intoned its dreary dirge. The feel of emptiness spread all around. I was not afraid. I felt tall and steady. Night began to obscure the light of day. I began my lonely trek around the desolate place. I met no one nor did I want to. I repeat. I was not afraid. Some candles were still lit All around the paths. Not that I had any difficulty To find my way. I had walked that path too, often. Suddenly all around a wild wind whispered all around. Still, I was more concerned about names and ages. How many die young! I feel tears brimming in my eyes. Yet no tears fell. The light dimmed casting long shadows. A lone raven cawed, a warming call. I did not care. The dirge bell rang again, a mandate and a warning, I pressed on, undaunted but free. I entered the mausoleum as was my habit, Lay myself down in my comfy coffin and slept.