The road to the market
Has become one-way
With a death in a house
Above the sweet stall,
The freezer box
Is out on the street,
With mourners seated
Under a canopy,
A band is playing
And the air reeks of
Incense, roses and weed,
The motorists turn back
Clearly unhappy they can't
Use a short-cut to work
The pedestrians rush past
After a furtive glance
Not wanting any reminder
Of how it all finally ends ---
Though trees shed death
Every season at our feet
And not seen as such.
