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Death and Its Milieu

The wailing, and then the sobbing,
Slowly a whimper,
Gradual sniffle and then
heard no more.

The stillness in one corner,
The cold, the frozen hands.
The gentle tread of matters
Pending and cautious dealings.

The flowers, the incense,
The crown, the casket.
The hurried concerns,
And the harried reviews.

The soul has left the earth,
Yon mortals that too soon
will follow. Whine why thee?
As morrow is not too far. 

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