Funeral March Blues

A poem by Wes Pinter featuring surreal art by Dariusz Zawadzki

Like a big bass fiddle
She was oozing with blues
But she couldn’t face death
And the pain of new shoes

As the notes poured out
From the strokes of her bow
The children cried softly
And they hung their heads low

It was a sad affair
Now that Daddy was gone
But they had no choice
They had to keep moving on

Mother was strong
But they wouldn’t let her down
They’d be right behind her
As they marched toward town

It was a sudden death
Struck down in his prime
And they would have worn pants
If they had more time

© 2020 Wes Pinter

“The Cellist” artwork by Dariusz Zawadzki

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