I sit and wonder
The colour of the coffin she is tucked in
The cardinal direction she's faced
I wonder
If she was dawned in cerements to honour her 
And complement her beautifully aged figure
Was there at least empathy to her bones
Maybe a few kisses on her forehead
Some compassion on her soul before
The box was shut and tightly sealed

Inside her grave
I feel the temperature of the soil
The gravel and the stones hoisted out the six feet
hole she's concealed under
And the weight of the rocks thrown on her coffin
Should one digs through and scar her lifeless
cold flesh

Inside the vault she is laid
I idle with the hope
To see unfamiliar image
Maybe engraving
That reads
Do not worry
For I am, being your mother, at peace

My brooding would then evaporate
I would sit on the grass by her grave
And study the inscription on the chest of her tomb
I would bring her to my vision
And admire as she mingles with the lifeless
I'd see her in hand with her consort strolling
around the mausoleum
Watching them converse freely by their chambers
About those they've left behind