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Dry Country Funeral

By John I. Blair

No bell rang
In the stubbed steeple,
No colored glass
Glorified the sun.

No carved saints
Or stations of the Cross
Softened the cracked walls
Nor cushions the pews.

No choir sang. Just
Loud hymns rasped
From husky throats
Of family and friends.

No cloud, no rain
Eased the dusty grass
Or quick rush of tears
The loss.

2005 John I. Blair  

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