Dirge


A crisp breeze flutters the hair,
Soft feathers of raven black trailing,
Caressing the downward moisture
And the trembling lips of grief.

Vibrant green responds to the cold,
Flaring violent red before fluttering away.
so quick, so short, this season of mourning,
The Harvester of Souls’ perpetual arrival.

Autumnal wind carries the sound of laughter,
Remembrances of good and bad times, and bittersweet love,
Through the ears and memories of those gathered,
Sighing away into the realm of energy and peace.

Curved, white flowers gather around the remains,
Bare branches reach in supplication to celestial heights,
Blackest of blacks and whitest of whites create a
Monochromatic scene of brisk bereavement.

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