Too Late
She followed at her own pace,
not really caring
and wondering at the crowd
that was ahead.
The coffin looked shiny,
in mahogany and brass
and she laughed
a little to herself.
Such a small one
and yet so smart.
You wouldn't think
a body would fit!
She drifted away then,
seemed to be transfixed
by the shoe shop
and the sales.
The blue ones were nice,
a bit pricey though
and the red were hot
and very high heeled.
By the time she'd finished
she realised the procession
had gone on
and she'd missed it.
Well they always said,
'you'll be late for your own funeral some day'
and they were right,
she was.
Her soul just floated away
into the heavens
and as she watched
the moon arose, grinning.
Who wants to be buried anyway?
she never did like worms
and she certainly didn't care
for the head stone.
poem by Ruth Walters
Added by Poetry Lover
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