DEATH Poem: The Decision at the Funeral, by Madalynn Burnham

When I awoke that cold and empty morning
My mind, once warm, had been iced over
Dark clothes and shadows, like rain, were pouring
Into the souls of those few sober

Though the sky is grey and hopes to weep
The clouds are stiff, for a drop will not descend
My tears must satisfy the sky, and hope to keep
My contrite soul until the numbing end

My mind then wandered into brighter mornings
Where wispy clouds gave way to rays of heat
When your life was filled with only beginnings
Mere months before your soul’s silent retreat

A modest grave with hardly any length
Has now consumed your fresh and simple soul
Your life was spent fighting for strength
However, fate reduced you to this role

Now I’ve been blessed by you, with a sorrowful sign
See, relief from this life does often cross my mind.

– Madalynn Burnham