I burned the pictures/but kept the poems

I burned the pictures
but kept the poems

I remember an Amish funeral procession
after some horrid violence

A line of wagons pulled by horses
the mourning folk, in black dress

Time-stand-still faces wore dark glasses
lending an unintentional chic twist

But I understood, in a small way,
about those who grieve

And why some must hide their eyes
and write on gravestones

And why I burned the pictures
but kept the poems.

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