Where’s Grandad
The hearse had been booked at the Co-op
for the Friday before the Goose Fair.
We paid for a top notch send off,
with a carriage and six to bear.
The hearse was well behind schedule
on the morning we were burying grandad.
The wind was howling and the sky was dark,
and it began to rain quite bad.
The coffin lay on the front room table
with the flag and white lilies on top.
My dad was anxiously twitching the curtains
until he saw the carriage and horses stop.
It had finally arrived to take grandad
to his resting place in the ground.
Six solemn bearers came into the house
and they never made a sound.
In the hearse they carefully placed the coffin,
then returned to their seating places.
But then they galloped off down the street
leaving us with rain soaked faces.
We ran to our cars and tried to catch up,
but the traffic lights didn’t go our way.
The next time we saw the shiny oak coffin
was by the grave, with the vicar about to pray.
Under umbrellas we gathered and watched
as the coffin was slowly lowered down.
Well after all that it didn’t turn out so bad,
except that we were at the burial of a Mrs Brown.
poem by Orlando Belo
Added by Poetry Lover
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