There's a sunset but at noonday,
The sun unclothed in the golden array,
The clay pot has been broken,
The sweet milk has been spilt,
Tell the sculptor not to hewn,
Not one soul should commune,
The drum skin is torn already,
There should be no music made,
Tell the flowers of late May;
And let them rest their bloom,
Let the bride not kiss her groom,
Nor should the queen wear her costume,
For the broken pot, we mourn,
We are in a state of forlorn,
Life has happened once again,
There's been a deadly hurricane,
It has swept us off our feet,
On our faces boldly is defeat,

But we will not be downcast
For there is a better afterlife,
Where death we will outlast,
Where with grave we won't strive,
For we will live by and by,
And not one person will die.

This is to those we've lost by the way;
Whose sun set when it was clear day,
We will see, play, laugh and smile,
And never will we meet to say bye.

© PenEmeritus 2020