The Last Rose

There will be those strangers,

there will be that friend.

Those pairs of eyes,

blinking too quick;

pushing back the tears;

fighting away all the pain.

They will all be drenched,

standing in that pouring rain.

Letting the fierce thunderbolts,

into their ears, shocking their heads.

The white petals on the roses,

collecting every possible drop.

The black coffin resting,

on top of the tall platform.

The body inside,

sleeping in peace.

All others outside

trying to muster some courage.

And the priest will start,

saying aloud the prayers…

Everyone there will silently,

eulogize the one long-gone.

The silent tears escaping out,

Hoping for a proper resting place.

The music will begin;

the one she hummed the most.

Fighting back the screams,

rewinding the memories in their heads.

Remembering her beside the campfire,

singing to her favorite tune.

The Undertaker standing steady,

awaiting the deciding node.

He got one and there he goes...

digging the shovel down the earth.

And her little child walked up to the box.

and rested a bright red rose,

atop his mothers new bed.

And, farewell!  . . . She goes...