It was all over then – the final fling

No band, no dress, no veil or anything

To mark the depths of loves rich passion

Or grace to hold the death and fashion

A coffin deep and wide for love’s funeral

Three now the end and the focused numeral

That decides the fate of all who enter here

Carrying the body in the wooden bier

That holds the corpse of a love now dead

Shot to pieces by the ugliness of dread

The body rotten and failing fast

The empty fingers that cannot get past

The social pressure to have and hold

A marriage unsure and hades now bold

But the soul lingers, just outside the door

Waiting in hope that there is more

That love is still burning in the open grave

Where the body will rest in sorrow laid

But the resurrection of life will surely tell

If it was final and free or just a fling as well…