On His Final Day Were Birds
The little road meandered through
And around the somber place
Mockingbirds were silent in cedars there
And thorny trees grew by graves
Scissor tails perched on highline wires
And witnessed the procession too
They lit upon the pebble ground
And did not fly their loops
Sparrows lit on cyclone fences
And in crepe-myrtles there
The trees growing in soil too dry
With leaves shed everywhere
There were mowers and weeders too
That droned not far away
There were ducks staying dry
And crows feeling grave
Family gathered beneath the tent
With friends there beside
There was a mourning dove that sang
And a red-tailed hawk that cried