Sing

There won’t be a whimper
From the note in the newspaper
Arrangements and names
Sad stories that get barely
Half a page between them
Grief is not recognised
Without a list of achievements
There’s no hollywood ending
Where the casket pops open
The deceased pondering existence
Through the medium
Of a best friend
It’s just the wound
That grinds a mother
To lose her life a little earlier
To join her child in the grave
At the expense of those that live
Wearily placing wreaths
To the sound of atheist hymns
Knowing love won’t bring them
Back from the dead to sing

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Sing

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