Grief
Grief wears a long gray bathrobe
With a hood pulled over his eyes.
When he makes it off the couch
Which he seldom does
He takes long walks in the cemetery
To see those that he loved.
When people leave casserole dishes on his porch
They go cold and a garden of mold is grown.
With eyes that are sunken deep into his head
Grief looks as though he would rather be
Dead
