Graveside Reflections

A black trickle of mourners were sucked reluctantly towards the clayless plug-hole,
A ninety-one year old life, about to be consumed by the ground.
I prayed her spirit was soaring above in a heavenly orbit,
I recoiled at the notion of her lingering at some lost and found.
I embraced many tearful by-standers, looking to reassure but as much to seek reassurance,
That at my journey's end, my soul too, shall find safekeeping.

poem by Greg Costello
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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