I approached a cortege on the churchyard road,

a sombre-eyed crew in navy and black.

I hesitated. What was the form here?

Did I have to turn back?

I pressed on, regardless. I had pressing jobs to do.

So, I overtook the hard-faced retinue,

who had firmly fastened their iron masks,

maintaining the appropriate demeanour,

learned from the mountains of books and art.

Everyone well knew how to play their part,

A truism carefully applied, a kind word said.

 

Who’d be a doofus at a funeral?

They would rather be dead!