Cemetery

Trudging through the snow,

as fat flakes swirl around us,

sprinkling sugar on our hair and lashes,

red roses laid aside like blood spilled on the snow,

as the coffin is lowered into the frozen ground,

the dirt dropped onto the grave hard as iron,

the sound a sharp thud as it hits the wood,

the preacher’s stole blows in the wind,

and a dove coos mournfully as we turn to go home.

©annettealaine 2015

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