Corpses

Splinters of fine wood apart,
Continues from the ancient start,
Havens in the skies of gold,
New corpses with flowers to hold.
Crosses in the graveyard be,
Underneath a single tall palm tree,
Flying in the air-borne noise,
Playing with an angel’s toys.
Stairs to hell, and carpets to heaven,
For all those who were good old men,
And the fine young children, dead galore,
Wait patiently, anticipate much more.
Between mourners in the cemetery,
Names etched in dusty upholstery,
But as they look down from the sky,
They’ll be remembered by and by.

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