Silent Mourner

He stands before a marble slab

And holds a slender red rose.

It quivers – and ever so slightly

Catches a  drop from his veiled eyes

Shadowed by the undulating flap of

His shabby cowboy hat.

Beside him stand two strangers,

Shifting their feet,

Touching his shoulder lightly but tenderly.

They look at each other and at him.

One opens her mouth

But shuts it again.

The silence remains unbroken.

His knees give out

A giant felled,

He drops to the ground.

The unsuspecting grass finds itself wrenched out of its den, and still there is no sound.


About Jean C Wong

I am a world traveler, writer, photographer, and teacher. I've lived all over the world and speak 5 languages.


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