Before the Birds

A Poem by RFDIII

Oh! How I woke, still mourning, in a haze!
His burial's been proceeding for days.
And how he woke, one morning, with his heart glazed bronze;
Petrified 'pon pedestal of all forgotten songs.

Plus
The mar-ching, never seemed to cease.
Pallbearers lined from west coast to the east.
So now the guns, lay golden, of which he had used to kill
Simply for they whisper “Bare the dead, no ill.”

But
Hypocrisy was never slant towards me.
And, oh if you had only ever seen!
His wretched, rivals,
Cried before the birds.
Cried before the birds,
for him.