A light shower began to fall,
‘A soft day’
So it is called in my country.
It settled on the coffin
Forming on the polished surface,
Drops like transparent dew –
Tears of the rain,
Some hung like observers from nearby trees.
Christ, spread-eagled in bronze,
Miraculously was not affected by this;
In fact it made him looked bored;
As if this was his mundane, monotonous daily job.

Two men (dressed in black)
Faces masked with the sympathetic
Camouflage of their task,
Opened umbrellas over a group
That was also mainly, wearing dark colours.
With the exception of a white cassocked priest.
He sprinkled water –
Disturbing the perfect composition of nature.
Christ still did not move.

The grave which already had been dug,
Was covered with a flower bedecked board
This was moved aside;
The straps were slung –
The weight tested –

Some drops ran urgently
But too late, to escape the hole.
Then we buried our tears.

© Fingleton (Octobre 2016) (Löst Viking)