Gently walks the solemn mourners
spent we few, who abscond the coroner.
Why the long faces, the hurt and scowl
we belong in places, not overt and prowl.
Night comes and takes the morning away.
Can we talk and walk those corners,
gently in dew, through fronds and flowers.
We belong in the races, covered in dirt and no tossed towels
why not be strong, even in the faces of hurt and scowl.
As the light drums and wakes, aborning today.