Funeral

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A solitary tear
Runs softly down her face
As she regards the aisle,
That loathsome, wicked place
That used to carry so much joy
But now just leaves her crying
At the memory of the boy
Who went up it, not walking, but lying.
A black ocean swarms
Beneath the bright stained glass,
And the day loses its warmth
As the mourners lose their masks.





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