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It sits there Quietly Facing the rising sun Not a speck of dirt Nothing but the shine Of a pampered black car It’s alone At the head Of a procession Yet to be Formed Automobiles From all over town Friends Relatives But for now No one The lot is empty The funeral home Has no visitors To come see And grieve And mourn And, often, celebrate Whomever Lies alone In the chapel On This hot June day© 2013 Thomas W. Cummins
In a dim light... 