deepundergroundpoetry.com

weddings & funerals

we gather, and we sing. i am not there.    
i am a comfort to my mother, who has lost her father
but i am not there.
 
    
the king is dead; long live the king    
his boxing gloves atop his polished coffin    
his fields stretch out a-yonder    
his castle’s sliding doors.    
   
in his iambs and his rhymes    
god’s will be done.  
in his children’s grieven voices    
his legacy will come.    
   
they line the street in lieu of    
dancing for his spirit as they ought-
condolences fill pages of a memoir    
he could not have wrought    
   
from his dying mind.  
   
and his hands will always be oaken in my own  
his eye a bright mischief    
   
he would be satisfied with how it was done,  
i think.  
he smiled all through his wake:  
 
there is a new baby born! a new grandchild    
to slip secret euros to  
in hushed conspiracy  
winking  
 
 
   
he will be missed till the cows    
his cows    
come home    
 
Written by anna_grin (ANNAN)
Published | Edited 20th Jan 2021
Author's Note
as always, no criticism will be taken personally despite the obvious personal nature of this: I’d rather do the man justice than not
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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