Stubble mushrooming his chin
he showed up on the door
without his trademark grin
he looked clearly sore.

He motioned me to sit on a chair
in the room with low watt light
his sullen stare and disheveled hair
said things weren't alright.

I sat in the embarrassing silence
thinking what might be the cause
what lay behind the simmering suspense
why my friend looked so morose.

There wasn't a sound in the whole house
the creepy stillness was deafening
with only the clock ticking sleepy hours
carried the night on its wing.

Sensing something was definitely wrong
gauged from his eyes swollen red
his father I knew was ailing for long
surely he was mourning the dead.

Where's uncle I set words in pace
long time I haven't him heard
making a dispassionate face
he pointed his finger upward.

So proved true my worst fear
the son was mourning the demise
everything was now clear
my shock I couldn’t disguise.

For you what a terrible blow
so early for him to have gone
my words poured sad and slow
may his soul rest in heaven.

My friend now spoke in awed face
I couldn’t miss his perturbed glare

*My father is fine God bless
he is only resting upstairs!