The steel shovel bites through cold dust,
Rain dripping softly into
A pit of despair
Surrounded by a sea of black coats.
Red roses drop gently down into
The half-inch of mud at the bottom,
Onto the wooden box that looks warm
Even in the October wind,
Containing all the memories of a lifetime.
A small girl crouches by the
Grave
Of her father,
Too young to sense the
Space left by a life.