The Stench (ver 1)
...
The taint of funereal flowers, strong, lingers
long after the mourners have gone home
and cleaned their guilt-stained hands
of the gravish dirt, so carelessly tossed.
...
So lucky are they, the still-living and breathing;
lucky in their blinded lives, for not seeing the reality
or smelling that death-flower taint still hanging;
lingering long after the graves have healed over.
...
So uncaring are they, the still-walking and talking;
keeping their uncouth ways and not living the reality;
just swallowing bitter vetch like drinking in the sun,
lingering over gravestones, and nodding like they know.
...
The taint of funeral flowers and gravish dirt stays long
with the grief and the stains and the healing holes.
And the uncouth and uncaring still walk and drink
and linger far too long, like rotting funeral-flowers do.