Grave Visit (IP)
Black boots, brown boots in a line,
looking very smart and fine,
with spit and polish mirror shine:
Papa’s, Mama’s, John’s and mine.
We’ll be following the hearse,
’cos Grandad’s cough got worse, and worse
– it killed his body, not his soul,
his coffin’s going in a hole.
As to the ground it was committed
‘Look sad, ’cos smiling’s not permitted’,
John said, to make me laugh or squeak
just as the man began to speak
Mama bent and picked me up
– her kisses helped my giggles stop,
John was passed to Papa’s side –
peeped up at Papa, Papa smiled.
[IP: the black boots looked fine … smiling wasn't permitted]