2/17/11

It is my earnest wish that all black suits,

Should be sewn out of paper, not of cloth,

So that they may be burned after each use,

And serve not as reminders of our loss.

All fibers become soiled with pain and grief,

Which ride our backs as heavy burdens fall,

From their dark charge, allow they be released,

Lest bitter, mournful, moments be recalled.

Let garments not absorb our miseries,

Then lay wait in our closets, ghoulishly.