Visitation
She rests in sweet repose,
as mourners pass--
some she never even knows.
Her casket is a deep, dark green,
its lining a silken shade,
a softer sheen,
a perfect counterpoint
to her chestnut tresses.
Pale hands rest upon her breast,
framing the emerald of her dress.
She would be truly upset
to see you gazing at her dead--
for it was clear what she had said:
“If you could not visit me
when I was alive,
don’t come see me now
that I have died.”
Alesia Leach © 11/2014
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