The mourners numbered four.
Three boys …a woman, slight.
Silent was their vigil,
One stranger passed tonight.
The wife’s shoulders straightened
Walked away, empowered mind.
The arguments now over
Peace, the new divine.
He won’t be found in heaven.
Hell’s tavern he will roam
No more fear, my darlings
He won’t be coming home.
The local pub is crowded
They’ve come from far and wide,
One Good ‘Ole Boy they’ll sorely miss
So many tears are cried.
A ruckus is arisin’
His buddies raise their glass
Beloved memories overheard
‘Bout how he’d saved their ass.
“Let’s take up a collection.”
Those barroom voices plan,
“We must erect a statue for
One mountain of a man.”
One man, two stories told.
Forensic feelings, black and gold…
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For Jingle Potluck:
Beaches and Mountains
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