Now he who laid the lost to rest
At last lies hushed among the rest;
The lone man who led many through
Tangled trials and griefs,
Now faces up, his lips below
The dark, deep dirt where worms grow.
Buried in the same soil as previous parish priests
near pebbles carried by ancient glacial streams
his corpse rots slowly within oak-lined panes,
resting in Hope & Dexter casket with brass hinges
corroding under silt, stones and clay.
When the required rite is read,
The living leave the newly dead;
Merchants mutter, children stare,
Teens are gone, and housewives dare
To scroll their feeds and their screens
Planning tonight’s pasta and the plans they’ve made.