Early morn reading Druid tales in living room,
Disturbed by a John Deere back-hoe’s loud boom.
In the window behind me in the graveyard,
Ten yards away clearing snow from frozen earth hard.
Then the “grave defroster” was laid on the ground,
A rustic oblong steel tank with a top round.
With black chimney, propane tank and fuel hose,
Twenty hours of gas heat dirt to decompose.
Then back-hoe returns to dig the “burial vault,”
Ten men and three machines this quiet to assault.
Now with raised tarp this solemn journey to end,
The casket’s mortal the next snowstorm will transcend.
Coronavirus be this depriver or not,
To live in the Now is our soulful human lot.