Among The Lilies

The wind gallops like a riderless horse Over the graves of voices no longer Heard. Where mourners lay flowers For the dead who can no longer smell Such a soft delicate fragrance. The funeral director asked if I was Well as if they were looking for new Business. We are all eventually cut Down as an axe strikes a tree no longer Wanted. The noise echoing throughout The wood where tears well up in the sap In a last final cry. Even the crows perched Looked on keeping their respect, their tree Was young and tall. Funerals are always Sad, particularly so just before Christmas. Now they rest among the lilies that will Restore the innocence of that sweet soul. They take their rest, as all that is left are The memories that will one day fade, until A photo is accidentally found in a draw.