After Elvie’s Funeral
The land heaves
Far more slowly
Than the sea
But that is the only difference
Now that we are lost-to-this-world
And driven to rest
As the very colourful head of a windy snake
And disappeared in a puff of flowers and song
Then jogged-over by the keen and fit.
The undertaker’s own name
Is discretely displayed
On his magnificent cars
I admire their slick tyres
And glimpse beneath the gleam
The scruffy boot
Full of gardening gear