by Sheldon Kranz
It was a hot June day,
And a breeze made the tall trees
Wave in friendly welcome.
Sunlight moved across white headstones,
Along grass, alive and growing.
On the coffin were flowers,
White and pink,
And the breeze came and moved them a little
With a small, scraping sound,
And the sun was hot on the pink and white flowers.
The people stood motionless,
Bent in grief,
And a dead voice clothed in black prayed,
And the flowers did not move.
The people stared into space,
Cold and still,
And the sun shone on the grass,
And the tall trees waved,
And the breeze came again,
And the flowers moved.