Twas a cold day we buried her
and all her memories.
the whistling wind
found my whitening moustache,
and like her birthday celebrations
the whirlwind blew around her.
she was always the center
the lifeline of generations
even under a gravesite canopy.
it took too many to hold the coffin
and too many to bear the burden
and too many to ponder their own future
beneath the bristling breeze.
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