The Sun hid his face today
No brightness, no warmth, the depths of dismay
His presence not questioned, is gone from this place
To all we are told, be blessed in his grace
The air in this room seems darker than night
The pew holds our sorrow, though nothing seems right
The minister speaks, what he says, I don’t know
Of salvation, and faith, and life-rafts in tow
Pink glasses and freckles and curly brown hair
And knee socks and Nikes’ all worn with such care;
Of years not quite sixteen, so suddenly spare
Of a prom dress, and a boyfriend, and a kiss, should he dare
Faith fills up the room as it drifts out the door
We shuffle our feet, we stare at the floor
And choir-like angels, all matching in dress
Sing praise to the heaven, and why, who can guess?
We empty the room and walk through the doors;
Seeking one lasting memory of what is no more
Balloons drifting upwards in the grey northern sky
While the man clothed in black, blithely says why
The balloons climb so slowly, the earth won’t let go
The candles all burned out, no flicker, no glow
No daylight, no moonlight, no star leaves a trace
For today is the day, the Sun hid his face
