Gaunt and ice-pale,
Ivory fingers delicately linger on
His oak casket.
Red-clad, marooned in a
Sea of black ties and dresses.
He had liked red.

Civilized hands, gentle on
Her back, elbows.
She startles at each touch,
Eyes wild and afraid.

Frozen soil, in shovelfuls
Falling against wood
Which answers with
Dull, muffled cries.
New sod, eerily green
Against woolen snow.

They never heard her cry--
Her black hair her shroud--
Only her breath,
Cold and hungry.