Clasped a coffin handle, cold and bronze,
Felt the weight of earth's return to land,
Solemnity a clammy sweat upon my palms.

Six quiet men, prepped to stand and bear
The loaded cask, our passenger unaware,
Unheeding lids held tight her sightless stare,
While I, her nephew, stood wondering there.

Scarce breathing in my fear and grief, I strained,
Unwilling soldier forced to march in train
Toward a punctual station beside a mound of earth,
The period ending to a sentence spun from birth.