" Dead Rite by Stewart Stafford

While he lives, hope still clings,
The hereafter remains a mystery,
If life is but struggle and toil,
Then death is hushed serenity.

Things he treasured when alive,
Trinkets to divide up as booty,
The body still lying in repose,
Nothing but a fading memory.

Lay him down in a mossy grave,
Heads bowed in a muttered eulogy,
Then back away with platitudes,
To the nearest exit from the cemetery.

© Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved. "

― Stewart Stafford