Yes, there were flowers and wreaths,
Black dresses, suits, and ties,
And you were shown the place
Where she would lie beside those
She never knew, beneath a stone
Like so many others, the words
Would be chiselled, the flowers placed,

The prayers said, the visitations frequent,
At least at first, but there was that element
Of unrealness of it all, like a surreal painting
Or play, as if all were small bit actors
In some awkward part, genuine in their grief,
In the hurt and loss felt, in the agony
Of the one lost, but feeling it odd,

That she, whom all had loved,
And seemingly blessed by her God,
Should be one moment here and full of life
And laughter, but then be silenced,
Struck dumb, have eyes closed, ears sealed
And stuffed, her limbs stiffened, her hands
Cold and still no longer to hold or bless

Or caress or heal, her heart no more to beat
Or feel, her brain no more to think
Or be the home of thought, and those
Features that all remembered well
In her face, should be gone, and only
Memories left to fill some small part
Of that emptiness within, that huge dark space.