Procession
A sinuous black worm,
the funeral procession
of black limousines crawls
toward the cemetary.
The headlights on the
hearse stare straight ahead
like zombies’ eyes,
illuminating the way.
Automobiles passing
the opposite way pull over,
some passengers hushed,
some restless.
Burdened with baby's breath
gladioli sprays and black lace,
a funeral is solemn
departure—a journey
before the journey
after the journey.
poem by Sonny Rainshine
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
