The day is ending,
The night is descending;
The marsh is frozen,
The river dead. Through clouds like ashes
The red sun flashes
On village windows
That glimmer red. The snow recommences;
The buried fences
Mark no longer
The road o’er the plain; While through the meadows,
Like fearful shadows,
Slowly passes
A funeral train. The bell is pealing,
And every feeling
Within me responds
To the dismal knell; Shadows are trailing,
My heart is bewailing
And tolling within
Like a funeral bell.
Funeral Poems & Readings
Afternoon in February
A funeral poem for comfort during unsettling times
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Afternoon in February
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