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Camille Mae Poem
Must we cry at funerals?
Or might we stand there motionless-
Clutching fists or hands at rest
Between the mourning generals
Must we drown our eyes in tears?
Or might we simply look away-
Weigh the rain another day
And feign to hear some hollowed cheers
Must we hide a torrid cry?
Or might we hold a paper piece-
Hear a sermon shushed by peace
And empty hearts as they breathe dry
Might we look up at the bird
That disappears amongst the trees
Pulled back to earth by the breeze
And finds the roots to hear its word
Copyright © Camille Mae | Year Posted 2023
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Details |
Camille Mae Poem
The sun lights ablaze the insides of the church
And colours the aisle for a girl to waltz down
Clutching a carved dress sashaying over stone
She reaches the end and is dropped to the ground
Her girl hands to her a tarnished black bouquet
Of damp chrysanthemums and roughly cut hay
And weeps on her dress, hoping that she will say
“I’m here now my sweet, so put those tears away”
She sits there in silence as the pastor stands
And pulled to the side are her daughter’s pale hands
He blesses the dress, and each last tear is shed
And prayers reach the ears of each bowed down head
Each eye minds her shell when at last she stands up
And pictures her dancing, might that be enough!
But strapped in her dress she is forced to behave
Tucked under the wood as she walks to her grave
Copyright © Camille Mae | Year Posted 2023
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