POEM
Occasion solemn,
The music tiresome;
Assembly sodden,
A spooky cooee.
A man, young, desi,
With covered breast says:
Am dead can you see?
My soul is soaring!
None hear him speaking;
Some chatter, cry, talk.
Many go mocking
The life he had led.
Abound accounts fed
To damage might his.
They’re tales that now tread
Amid yarns spun well.
But what’s heard most well:
Unholy sad knell.
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