A Hearse Rolls By

A hearse rolls by on this darkest of days,
Its slow wheels barely disturb the puddles as I pass,
I stand at the crossing and lower my head,
Respect is always due in death.
The hard rain pounds my neck in the stance,
And I look up to see a small smile in the cortege,
We forget so much of the honour of life,
As behind mourners we cruise, cursing time.

Oh sweet flesh your changing so beguiles me,
As if mirrors are meant for our displeasure!
There is something pure about the process
That drives me to seek out old pictures.
Strange garments that age denotes stranger,
Hairstyles as wild as they are flat.
The colours all seem faded yet richer,
But the smiles they haven't yet changed.

Our dalliance with Chronos is seen as a chore,
We'd rather surrender to money than to grace.
A wizard-fuelled perplexity of mortal anguish,
Spinning lies into scalps as of lightbulbs.
Perfidious to nature in the trust of the billfold,
You can cut back your expenses and share mine.
I have the time if you have the wry suspicion,
To examine each strand for lice and grey.

A hearse rolls by on this darkest of days,
But tomorrow I'll see a newborn rejoiced,
Even if it's only in the printed local rag.
And I will think of the passing black cortege.
That winsome smile that belies understanding
That can teach so much more than we care to know.
As the drizzle taps it gentle beat to a lowered coffin,
Urging races back to youth and cradled life.