Sail and Gails

amid the rustle of the frost-burned grass,
underside the rubber soles of polished shoes-
in a place where few smiles survive,

she will wear the black dress, and she will
smile, she will sing. Proclaim to the sleepy
knoll, Jesus has taken away the sting.

the black sails that trail behind,
the box of all that remains,
walk slowly, traipsing on graves,
hover, whisper, tear drop across the place.

But she will smile.
In that long, black dress.
She will laugh, and smile --
She will sing.
"You can't hold him, you can't hold me"...
"Death, where is your sting?"