The Last Ride

As I walk the busy street
that is rushed and full of life
a siren sounds behind me
and police come into sight

following close behind
a hearse, (a morbid sight!)
It quietly slips past me
making day feel more like night

I feel as part of History
for Poets long before
have recorded this same ritual
and so shall I once more

For a moment I am younger
my arms around my knees
Sharing the ancient sorrow
that Death so keenly sees

Even as the traffic
continues to rush by
I start to understand,
and accept it with a sigh.

Regardless of the Who,
Why, When, or Where
mortality marks all of us;
Death is always there

I salute you, Dear Departed
and your eternal night
I remain alone behind
until the hearse is out of sight.