Coffin
The casket is heavy, making my movements slow.
Yet I must press on, and throw it into the rivers flow.
I pass they might tower, and hear as the angel sings.
Moving on is torture, until I hear fluttering wings.
Landing beside me, my burden she helps me lift.
I remember the day, when I first got this angel gift.
Reaching the river, we toss the box so rotten.
Flying on and away, its past is now forgotten.
