Morning Reflections

It is winter now, and all is cold,
The dawn has broken through,
A chill, a deathly silence, holds fast and still,
In dimming shades and hues.

It is a peaceful day, a mournful day,
A day of meditations.
A day of thought, and quiet musings,
And voiceless celebrations.

Our relatives and friends abroad
Have all come for this day.
They stand before our quaint abode,
And not a word they say.

All are dressed in flamboyant attire,
And every soul caries its tone.
They shift; they stride, and wait a while,
And all keep to their own.

A wind it blows, a fearsome noise,
Like the mourning of a beast.
And the snowfall sings a merry tune,
In the midst of our great feast.

The man in black, the father, the son,
Exit, with lowered heads.
And behind these men, they carry the coffin.

The mother is, at last, dead.

Hero