Never has a day
been more perfect
for a funeral:
as fresh and clear
as the morning dew.
Yet at Berry Funeral Home,
four cadavers have resolved
to elude the final kiss of the the earth,
to rise beyond what the truly limited
term 'death'.
Their arms flapping in concert,
they're soon pirouetting about
the ceiling like eagles at play
on a mountaintop.
The mortician enters, and
stares in disbelief. His doubt
stuns their new winds, and
they slowly flutter downwards,
only to catch themselves, and
rise again.
They will fall and rise, rise
and fall, again and forever,
without ever touching the ground.
Is this not the definition
of heaven?
David Kowalczyk
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bittersweet-22/
