The Ghost Whimpers

Now watching her funeral
She weeps not her death
Awful awkward hypocrisy
Heads down to mourn
Feast and feast so fast
While her body lie in state

But she died of hunger
Maggot crawled her wounds
Friends fled to be friends
Day after day she groaned
Her pains no one to care
Helpless, she slumped and died

But who might know her grief
While pouring out orations
For such much to munch
Maybe, she might not die
So invisible she whimpers
At the feasting of the dead