| They lowered your coffin into the ground, rain spitting on umbrellas |
| Dark colours black hats, whispered voices as stilettos sank into the mud |
| People, some not seen for years speak as if they were here only yesterday |
| Man in peaked cap leant up against the hearse smoking a cheroot |
| Kicks the ground with impatient waiting, turns up the radio a tad |
| The priest arrives complete with smoking handbag, altar boy holding an umbrella |
| Brown moccasins sneaking out from under his cassock, one lace undone |
| Prayers rattled off like recipes for cooks, hail mary's said without lips moving |
| Grave diggers hover in the background, tenner extra after midday |
| The priest says the final prayer, roses land on the coffin in a layer |
| Words of comfort come in waves, as the group wade out through the graves |
| Back to the house for sandwiches and tea, double vodkas and G&TS |
| Rose click memories of years gone by, howling with laughter till we cry |
| There was no time my last parent to say good bye, gone so quick in the blink of an eye |
| and as the last person files through the door, I realize that I
am nobody's baby anymore! ©Anna Brown Jan 1999 |