I had never seen
A dead man,
But my friend
Whispered,
“Come and see my father.
He died only yesterday.”
I entered the dead room
And tiptoed
Round the coffin,
Afeard I might waken him,
Staring hard
At the flour white face
Of his father,
Dressed in his Sunday suit,
But very still.
I thought of mine
And breathed relief,
He was so well.
There was pink
On the dead lips
And rose on the cheeks.
And I thought, “He looks better
Than before
He died.”
And I wondered
Would I?