Front Row Seat

The keys played by the pianist faded

As feet shuffled to their seats

I could hear folks mumbling about their grief

I couldn’t smell the room of fresh flowers

Only acknowledged that they were there And stared at the arrangement


Shock this day had come

The first to arrive was me

Even though seats weren’t assigned

I knew which one was mine

In the front row at the funeral

I thought I’ve sat here before

For a similar occasion

only this time without you to console me

Cautious not to break I sat ever so still

As the front row filled all around me.

Your Mother, father, and step parents

Sister, brothers, niece & nephews

And me of-course

Paying the high cost of respect.

I hadn’t planned to cry

I decided I would play it by ear

But some how knew the tears

Would get away from me.

In the front row of the funeral I was unaware of the hundreds behind me.

It was a task just to breathe

I had never felt pain to this degree.

From the front row

The worst seat

I heard the pastor read

“Held, beheld, beloved”!

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