Optimistic afterlife

They go for walks about
When we're not looking
They relive merry times
When we're not there
They're glad to be in truth
All that we're not being
They don't dwell so much
On what is fair

We watch them solemnly
They betray not a thing
We dress them florally
They show no taste
We cry for lost love
And it remains that
They never understand
The words like waste

There in the tall grass
The souls are wandering
They have a playground
If short on slides
It is a quiet place
Not really frightening
For those who settle there
And there abide

© Rachel Fox 2005