Skidding across the lid with a splutter

from death to dust is what he muttered

man in robe of black and collar white

making sure to get each last word right

hands and heart she reached out to the Lord

prayers of peace and grace for her own accord

with brown eyes fixed on her final resting place

she drifted through the air without a trace

he was there- she saw him as she dangled in the trees

his bald head down as he prayed long on his knees

clutching papers with sweet words so long forgotten

by some people, it’s true -- but not by their begotten

rustling chipmunks scampered and overheard

the moan and tears of their love’s last word

written deep inside on the edge of their bones

his still amongst the living, though hers-- all alone

"I will love you even when we are dead"

how he wrestled with those bittersweet words that she said

but now that she’s a ghost tangled up in branches and sky

"I’m coming with you, my love," is his final reply