The stranger

A funeral march passes on,
Leaving tears and sorrow in its wake.
Mourning the passing of the recently gone,
Is too much, for the strangers sake.

He picks up a rose, places it on the grave,
And wonders at the grieving and crying.
He thinks to himself, was it too late,
To save that child from dying.

Could he have made any difference,
Or was it something that had to occur.
His soul is made empty by the absence,
As he wonders across the Earth.

Of all the deaths he had witnessed,
The boys was felt most keenly.
He thought of the joys he had missed,
And to the stranger, it all felt unseemly.

Finally, he turns from the grave,
And walks away from the church.
It doesn't matter, if it was too late,
Because soon, there would be a rebirth.