of which death both is and really is not part.
Think of it long enough to break your heart.
And talk of guns and clubs and stones and knives.
Then call a halt, and sing, eat, laugh and dance,
as they would do if here. They'd see us cry.
Not knowing they are dead, would wonder why.
So celebrate for them. We have the chance
which they don't any more. They partied hard.
Drank when they could afford it. When their luck
was good, sometimes enjoyed a cheerful fuck.
Were happy often. Sometimes found a yard
red silk, blue cotton, cut or wrapped a dress
that looked so fine, you'd see them and shout Yes!