In the stories,
Funerals are on dark and dreary days,
Full of falling rain and fraught with cold.
They’re too pretty,
Bright, happy days of sun and light,
The warmth healing wounds you want to ache
Just a little longer.
I’ve lived through both kind of days.
I realized that the important weather
Is the forecast inside.
It is unpredictable,
Stormy and grey and just as fast,
Peaceful once more.
When will the turmoil end?