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Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #2154603
When my mother passed away and her funeral soon followed I mourned my loss of her.
Dear Mother, I longed for your love;
    so when you passed away, I wept.
As your spirit rose up above,
    my stinging tears, which were inept,
flowed as we began to remove
    your cold, silent corpse as it slept.

Time passed. They gathered for your wake, 
    a soothing hour that was not sad
or grave as they tried (for my sake)
    to pay their respects and act glad:
as you laid there (to never take
    a breath again), I could’ve gone mad...

The day arrived. The funeral
    took place on a cold, wintry morn,
as if dream-like, strange, and surreal;
    distraught, I felt bereaved...and torn,
as your last rites and burial
    left me forlorn—oh, so forlorn!
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