The Pallbearer

I happen to know a common pallbearer
Who mourns all deaths around him;
His eyes have the wisdom you’d expect
But the light in them is quite dim.

He carries corpses; He carries every day
And never does he ask for the name of the dead.
‘Cause someday it will be someone he knows
And the name shall never escape his head.

Said he once, ‘Today I carried a little girl’
‘Seven she was, I heard them say…
My daughter would be seven by now, yes,
Had it not been such a bad day.’

He still believes the little girl heard
His whisper, in her box so small;
‘Sleep well little girl, whoever you are,
For this sleep eventually, comes to us all.’

‘Had you lived a little more, child,
You would have known how the world looks.
But don’t be sad, for it’s not as beautiful
As they lie in your colourful books.’

The pallbearer sees an obscure face,
The face of his daughter behind a veil,
And a smile; the smile that pulled out tears.
And the smile that also helped him heal.

He is tired now; He’s tired of carrying
Bodies that are supposed to be light;
But heavy are the dead dreams and hopes,
Which he struggled to carry with all his might.

And what he fears more than death
Is that one day, it will be someone he knows.
‘Not a child, but someone old’, he prays
‘Someone who has seen all highs and lows.’

‘Someone who has lived his part of the stay.
‘Cause in their deaths, the pain is always mild;
‘And I shall be their pallbearer, but
My shoulders are too weak to carry another child.’