This poem is dedicated to my vanished village and its forgotten customs: the unbreakable bond.
Knock on Pine
Somber men wearing black
Armbands sit up front.
Women in black
Sniffle, swallow sobs
Then tears.
The sermon
Dollops of memories and hope.
A rose window
Shaft of light
Warms the pine box.
Friends pass by
And knock on the box.
Silently saying,
Wake up.
Remember us left behind.
