Lodge of Sorrow

This day we walk 

Through my living room

Unrolling sod for the six by two

Nailed in place, and sealed with glue

I gave an inch for some breathing room.

The wreathes of fern scent the view 

As the rollers came 

With a neighing crew

Encased in glass, the clopping ques,

The procession lined for the final view

Bow your heads under sorrow hung

The blackest drapes 

For mournful pause 

Proceeded in death in due form cause 

Dim the taper, thrice rapp the lodge.