His Last Journey

We climb into the car, together and alone,

The door clicks, locking us into place,

We sit on display for all to see,

As we follow the pinewood box to its burial,

The unappreciated music of rain comforts my dry soul,

Reminds me that I’m home,

I am safe.

Looking up, I catch a sympathetic eye,

On the bus, she looks to offer condolences,

She shows me that she understands.

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