The Poetry of Death
The fleeting epitaph,
The changing song,
The changing tide,
The bus disembarks its passengers.
The fleeting epitaph,
We go through the final door,
The night comes for us,
We no longer have a seat on dawn’s bus.
The fleeting epitaph,
The shrivelled meadows,
The looming darkness,
The unseen carriage.
The fleeting epitaph,
The sadness it brings,
The grief that hides in us,
The separation that is harbingered.
The living sing a dirge,
They converge and diverge,
The carriage is duty-bound,
Unseen and tenacious in its duty.
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