MEMORIES OF A FUNERAL

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Memories of a Funeral.
It’s well past midnight. I sit beside an oil lamp in a city that sleeps late, as we all ponder the events of today. It’s the last hurrah of summer and the shadows of winter have crept in ever so slowly into this season of despair.
We were robbed by the death of a beloved brethren, and this closed and tight community feels the loss of terribly.
We are what we are, and who we are, and then there is the family, the neighbors, and friends.
Who am I to the departed, I still don’t know, but I am here to say “Goodbye.”
Early this evening darkness came early, and grave diggers were busy at the cemetery plot.  I could smell the freshly dug earth, and when all was said and done, as we all stood around I could hear the wooden coffin scrape the sides of the grave as it gently settled at the bottom, in the bosom of mother earth.
I turned towards my sister and whispered in her ear, “he was very old, we are still very young, and we have a long way to go. “
She said “True, true, we shall see him on Judgment day” in the meantime nobody better jump the line to the bathroom.

GOD Bless You.

May all be well with you.

DMD

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