Death passed by on fervid rubber wheels.
Three broad mortuary Cadillacs,
Flying modest pennants low on the fenders,
Led the procession, followed by a covey
Of medium-priced cars, with no overcrowding,
And some with just a driver at the wheel,
But the whole cluster with headlights lit,
As is the law and custom of the thoroughfare.
Only at the rear was there any sign of jostling,
Any suggestion of impatient thought
At foolish delay, or Where’s the funeral!
Death passed at moderate speed and slowed the counter
traffic
To a respectful twenty, making it almost veer,
As when one hears a siren in the distance.
Then it was gone, the funeral with its flags
And fine sparkling lights, like tears in the eyes,
Gone to the silvered fences at the edge of town,
And the soft gravel of the cemetery.
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