On Visiting My Father

If I wasn't at your funeral There's no way I could know That you're locked inside a casket Somewhere down below. It looks so dead and vacant In this corner of your newfound home, But I'm not too sure it'll help when they finally place your stone. The grass is brown and withered As are the leaves beneath my knees While I watch the prayers I whisper As my breath begins to freeze. The sun casts winter shadows which slowly envelope me, As I pray for the soul of a dead man In the shade of a lifeless tree.