A beautiful, black woman,
Rocks back and forth in a wooden chair,
Perched in a small cottage
Of a seaside town
Where the wind was cold and wise.
Her grey hair grew out,
And tucked remained in a scarf,
Her brown eyes faded,
Her brown skin wrinkled,
And the blue skies were seen in her eyes.
The morning was chilly,
And the sun lit the path golden
As muscle men carried,
A white casket down an isle
To the shadows of an oak tree in it's depth.
Laid in cool sand,
with flowers as a blanket
We laid her to rest,