A life in memory, only a burnt vessel remains
Living without guidance, no clear defined path
The pyre built by the living, smoke rises from fire
In each life many things can and have gone wrong
The pyre consumes the flesh leftover, intense flames
Vessel no longer vital, unneeded for the aftermath
“Never did tombs look so ghastly white. Never did cypress, or yew, or juniper so seem the embodiment of funeral gloom. Never did tree or grass wave or rustle so ominously. Never did bough creak so mysteriously, and never did the far-away howling of dogs send such a woeful presage through the night.”
