Eulogies
By TheShyAssassin
Sun, 30 Jun 2019
- 1492 reads
1 comments
I stood by her grave as the casket was lowered.
A shame that her friends had commitments.
I hardly knew her. "Good morning" as we passed.
And two chats in the pub, two afternoons, when others were working.
The priest never met her.
Speaking third hand words learned from second hand relatives.
The sparse wake was a quiet and quick.
Despite the money she'd put aside.
Who will speak my eulogy? Will you?
The last voice I'll hear before endless night.
Will you speak my truth or yours?
Mine would be truthful, yours polite.
I would speak of weakness, and talents unfulfilled.
You will speak of honesty and iron Yorkshire will.
Both of us liars.
But who'll remember anyway? Once the soil is on the wood.
Who will hear my eulogy?
The liars, the lovers, the haters, the damned.
Or no-one. Or someone I once helped who only now shows their gratitude.
But who'll remember anyway? Once the soil is on the wood.
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