small lies will be whispered
i can hear bag pipes
mournfully calling
the father of my friend
a hard rain is falling
as should be the case
this death is being celebrated
in grand style
i suspect there will be speeches
and all of it makes sense
he was well liked
and seemingly well respected
so let the pipes echo
through this grand hall
where small lies
will be whispered
in memories rejoice
and my eyes will fill
with all this sadness
and with sadness more
for the old vet
at the nursing home
who saved someone's life
or didn't
in 1943
he died at sunrise
this morning
his family forgotten
the ward nurse
pulling the crisp white sheet
over his lonely eyes
no pIper
no ceremony
death crawling into the quiet room
like a shadow
leaving like a whisper
the great equalizer
yet another
unspoken lie
Copyright © michael dennis
back to what we pass over in silence