A very bright sunny morning in June,
armed with a degree, confident and beaming,
he walked in with very big dreams,
Of writing stories with spirit,
some that had change lives,
and others that lives had changed.
The obituary section was where he was placed,
he wrote about the dearly departed, the terribly missed,
even the occasional ' his time had come',
he worked that column alone,
pasting sad faces and grieveing memories, everyday,
before it went to press.
Was this what he had wished for?
to build a family from writing about death,
wait each morning for a teary eyed family member,
or to watch, as hearses passed by.
40 years-3 months -12 days into the job,
his heart gave up, it stopped, right in between a memorial service column,
walking away from it all. His family rushed to his side,
a pastor was brought in, a coffin was ordered,
and an obituary prepared.
Suddenly, everybody wondered,
who would write his?