Funeral

 


With the rain coming down,
With the cold, drops of rain Beating down.


Underneath an oak tree they all gathered around,
Those who gave its birth to the day,


For the last time to pay,


Their respects to the men,


To their brothers and fathers and friends,
To those three in the coffins,
Now covered by soils of death.

All the words that were spoken were wispered,


As the tears flowed down,
To the moist, open ground,
And as time stood still,
And the moments slowly unfolded,
In that cold afternoon in December,


With the rain coming down,
With the cold drops of rain,

Beating down.

There they stood in the rain reminiscing,


Of dark echoes of yesterday's storms,


Of the three that are presently missing,


Of the vacuum left by the night,
And their fears of death at their doorstep.

On the crossroad of night and of day,
As the tears flowed down,
To the moist open ground,


And as time stood still,


There and then,


From the middle of tombstones and crosses,


Three black cranes rose up to the sky,


Flying south,

With the rain coming down,
With the rain pouring down,
With the cold drops of rain,

Beating down.



 

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© 2000 George Pararas-Carayannis

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