they dress up the dead.

he doesn't move from his place of peace
savors the incense's aromatic bliss
adorned with flowers robed in white
ready to take off for the final flight.

the mourners breathe in whispers low
head bowed down cheeks wet in flow
muffled sobs seek shoulder's rest
bid adieu pray soul be blessed.

*this morn i found one chick dead cold
born too in a cage a few days old
the lone mourner of a severed bond
i picked it up and threw to the pond!