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No Good Man Among the Living

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The cold headstones stand against the bitter wind

As soft music soars through the graveyard, a solitary crow      perches in a tree

Its throaty cry echoes around the trimmed landscape

 

Each name neatly etched in marble

Silencce is a friend to quiet mourners and the dead.

Only ever broken when another box is lowered softly into the    ground

 

The rehabilitation portion of grief aims to create a link 

Between the living and the deceased

But also attempts to teach one how to finally release

And move on, like the crow who calls hoarselg, then returns to  his nest

 

As the graveyard gates close,

Mourners trail from the trimmed grass and into their cars

 

Some days they wonder, if perhaps it's a good thing death  awaits us all,

Because it seems there is no good man among the living




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