The people stood in small groups. 

All hte green grass had been trod down. 

Mud crusted on their black shoes. 

The sweat could be detected by untrained noses. 

The beads on their foreheads ran to dry lips. 

The black outfits did not help their heated desperation to enter. 

Head to toe,

Black on black, with an accent of black.

No blonde hair was visible. 

It was all tucekd into black articles. 

The kids squirmed and wriggled. 

Mothers tried to calm them down. 

Liquor was not acceptable here to soothe them. 

The old emotion of sorrow was felt and could be seen on the new waxy skin of young women.

Their waxy mascara globbed on their cheeks. 

Only shadows covered these insecurities that made these perfect women imperfect.

Their polyester brims and dark-dyed cotton crew and halters shaded them.

It was a regulation, somber Kentucky Derbyy outfit. 

Although all looked engaged in some communication, all was silent. 

The progression was almost visible--all communication ended. 

Everyone wrung ther wrists. 

The children were confused. 

They were hushed. 

The road miraged. 

The hearse was finally visible to all. 

Not jus the tall. 

The water on the road developed into concrete. 

The vehicle stopped. 

The American four-square remained empty. 

Men in suits emerged.

All with a hand on the brass cascet bar. 

These strong men were turned to putty as handkerchiefs were drawn. 

The only source of white. 

The ornate box was brought into the oak doors. 

Lights inside were downcast. 

Windows were covered with thick religious tapestry. 

Carpets coverered the white oak floors. 

Mothers and children followed inside. 

They remained in a valley and a shadow of death. 

They all entered together yet everyone was distant. 

The cascet was opened. 

They all looked upon him. 

They pondered the son. 

They pondered the brother. 

They pondered the nephew. 

They pondered the boy they all once loved.