Every note cuts deeper into scarred and broken souls.

Leaves quiver slightly on a blood red autumn tree.

crying people, clothed in black,

stand on golden grass.

Perhaps a green tarp covers my mahogany coffin.

My father

Weeps in the arms of my mother,

He wants to wake up from this horrible dream,

Not realizing that this is his new reality.

My skin is covered in beautiful

White lace,

like a perfect valentine doily

I lay down forever.

A man with bagpipes plays the mournful

“Amazing Grace.”

All the trivial things I did

Don’t seem as monumental now.

My father wishes he could see me

one last time. Hear my laugh,

notice every detail of my smile, laugh at jokes

That no one thought were funny.

I am accepted with the graceful beauty of an adult,

Not the stumbling falters of a child.

We all must die.

And it’s how we are remembered that is important.

Listen to the bagpipes. Hear their mournful cry.

Remember that

I truly was an amazing grace.