I woke in darkness and I could not move
more than my eyeballs ’round in their sockets.
In panic I discerned a light through a groove,
but my hands were still pinned to my pockets.
I could not tell if I was in my room
but the paralysis was oppressive.
Voices and crying came out of the gloom.
It all seemed, to me, a bit excessive.
Then the organ moaned in its mournful tones,
a choir sang old Negro spirituals.
The combination just rattled my bones,
since I was already irritable.
Then I heard something quite new to me,
it awakened me to all of my fears,
the Preacher was giving my eulogy,
I could not cry for I had no more tears.
M. Zane McClellan
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