We sat in rows listening to your poems being read at your funeral. I heard them as you would have read them. He's not dead, he could never die, I said to myself. This stuff's not for funerals, whoever you are, reading from the pulpit in a priest's garb. You are dead wrong, the man still is with us, bleating his lines. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LAUGHTER (YOUTH SPEAKS TO HIS OWN OLD AGE) by CONRAD AIKEN MUSIC by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET IF IT WERE NOT FOR YOU by HAYDEN CARRUTH PARAGRAPHS: 15 by HAYDEN CARRUTH SOMEBODY LOVED ME by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SPECIAL PLEADING by SIDNEY LANIER SLEEPING TOGETHER by KATHERINE MANSFIELD A FOOL, A FOUL THING, A DISTRESSFUL LUNATIC by MARIANNE MOORE |