Antemortem

Her hair dances wildly
As she skips swiftly through the rows
Her right holds a glass of wine
As her left holds a crimson rose

To be here all alone
She feels no better feeling
From dropping every rose
Her knees get dirty from kneeling

The air is cold and crisp
Leaves litter the entire ground
She is not ill, although she is comforted
From the sight of each mound

The wine takes full effect
So she becomes possessed with laughter
She wonders about life’s end
And what will happen to her after

She sips her wine on such a high
She feels so strongly merry
She is right where she wants to be
At this quiet cemetery—