A Postman’s Funeral

Fall, beauty red, then yellow, brown.
As slow the life consume.
The leaves they fall and bare the crown.
Here comes the waning bloom.
So slowly painted strokes unfold.
In autumn’s tranquil shawl.
Fortuna giddy bless the cold.
Their fates her wheel befall.

The rule of ivy, fog and time.
The summer folk recede.
Inscribe the year in passing clime.
For justice vines do plead.
Persistence climb and strangle fast.
And shade the saplings dead.
In veil the path in vapor massed.
Bizarre miasma wed.

A stranger comes: A death in Maine.
So pierce the wicked gloom.
Some titian call to course restrained.
Escape the listing tombs.
Bouquet of lilies liquid light.
Adorn a casket pine.
In hearse so whisper bitter plight.
Advance procession line.

A storm ascend and rivers meet.
Our herd so hushing past.
A father kneels at heaven’s seat.
And prays for them who passed.
The ocean rise and meets the shore.
As each wave fades away.
A leaven province never more.
Foretold forsaken bay.

Grey seagull follows banquet black.
Foreshadow sacred meal.
A widow wails of pain and lack.
This day the flood unseal.
The houses nod and weep along.
So e’er the deluge grows.
They ache and creak of missing song.
From rupture tumult flows.

So past a meadow, creek, and spring.
The huddled throng does weave.
A beach,a lighthouse, bells a-ring.
To one another cleave.
A cask lies open, fading sound.
An epoch comes to Maine.
The parish grimly gathers round.
A dawn of rite profane.

As crimson candles come alight.
So meet when death does call.
The fun’ral mirth so reach its height.
A rare reunion ball.
So sharing stories smiling face.
The lodge is filled with cheer.
Alone the father chapel grace.
And every pew is clear.

A gasp escapes as corpse arise.
So stirred the crowd awry.
The suit so wrinkled, faded guise.
Disgrace the chestnut tie.
The cask convulse with morbid waltz.
Conceive the wisps of fear.
So pry and pounce upon the faults.
A man at horror sneer.

So whip and stain the saffron souls.
As jaundiced faces broil.
From acrid sweat and grit of sand.
So serve as fertile soil.
The smell of terror shod in brown.
They rip the postman’s pall.
So floor alight to burn it down.
Soon flames do lick the wall.

So lily petals swirling by.
Remember Postman’s wake.
The town meander, shudder, cry.
As Fall begins to break.
The smoking relic still riposte.
The hollow peace accord.
Between the public and the ghost.
A phantom broke his word.

A curse in place, a season strange.
As curtains drape in white.
On crystal crypt that warmth estrange,
Fall flakes of silent spite.
We find the stranger huddled arms.
Alone despite his worth.
The rotting houses, blighted farms.
The kind of man unearth.

The copper stranger mark his call.
To gather men around.
Succumb to winter, ugly squall.
Or raise walls from the ground.
Here comes the summer’s early smog.
A ghost against the snow.
The master calls his haggard hog.
The beast needs food you know?

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