Obsequies Acute

Mountains formidable strike fear to the heart and mind.

Obsequies performed acute; measured semblances in time.

Petty thoughts supplant the crowd of repentant at ritual mass.

One lone mourner pines; the elapsed soul tarries without sorrows past.

The December wind howls; shivers race through the green valley below.

The mountains fearsome rest tall with their heads glistening snow.

Brisk men standing proud; The Pipers bag bellows; victory found.

Then comes Amazing grace on fluids soft row; oh how sweet, how sweet the sound.

Passions rise; hands lifted on high; Glory be to God; glory come now on this mountains side.

Shouts of praise climb unto the sky; clapping hands dance into the night.

A full moon smiles on the repentant below; the grounds begin to rumble and the heavens do shake.

Oh death, where now is thy sting?….Victory in Jesus the angels did sing.

© 12/1/07

J. Allen Wilson