A cortege of daughters
A quite ordinary funeral: the corpse
Unknown to the priest. The twenty-third psalm.
The readings by serious businessmen
One who nearly tripped on the unaccustomed pew.
The kneelers and the sitters like sheep and goats.
But by some prior determination a row
Of daughters and daughters-in-law rose
To act as pall-bearers instead of men.
All of even height and beautiful.
One wore in her hair a black and white striped bow.
And in the midst of their queenliness
One in dark flowered silk, the corpse
Had become a man before they reached the porch
So loved he had his own dark barge
Which their slow moving steps rowed
As a dark lake is sometimes surrounded by irises.
Thank you, Sweetpea, for recommending this wonderful poem.