In nature, when a death takes place,
The vultures, black and bold,
Are swift to swoop to take the case
Before the body’s cold.
Humanity no way compares –
We are more sensitive,
Unless we’re greedy waiting heirs
Not shy to shove a shiv.
E’en they do what most others do,
And vultures do in kind:
They tidy up like cleaning crew
All that’s been left behind.
Estate sale means that one has died
And all is left to sell –
The prized possessions held with pride
That men get when they’re well.
We living ones all circle ‘round
The sign and fin’lly light;
We park our cars upon the ground
Where he parked his at night.
We enter through the open door,
No host to heed a knock;
And then the leavings we explore,
Like hungry feathered flock.
It’s then, that if the dead could speak,
His words would solemn fall:
“No matter what you’re here to seek,
It has no worth at all.”
© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2013.