into the valley

the traffic slows
to a crawl, then stops
for the funeral
procession.

the beams of headlights
reach out
from each car
in the half dark of day.

the black hearse rolls
slowly towards the green
hills, dotted with stones,
to the freshly cut
grave.

there is not much to say.
the usual words.
the open bible,
the talk of into the shadow
of the valley of death we go.

there are women crying in the rain.
men too.
children
bewildered by it all.

life is hard,
we swallow it uneasily,
death is strange.