The White Basket

The white basket of roses and baby’s breath

placed near his feet by his five year old daughter

drew gasps and tears from all five hundred

mourners.  She had insisted on a bouquet

fitting for a bride, not a man so young.

No one now remembers those who stayed away,

supposing they could catch that dreaded disease

from the little girl whose Daddy lay there

cold and silent. Only the closest

next of kin walked behind the oak wood

casket when, on his thirtieth birthday,

six of his friends carried him to his grave.

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