yellow

i watch the rain fall on the funeral procession unable to make out the faces in the crowd of mourners

huddled together in all black under gray skies sobbing

only the tractor seems to celebrate life with yellow iron and gouts of smoke from the idling engine

the priest waves his hands but his words are lost on the wind

all i can do is stare at the tractor while the rest of them stare at the hole, same result just a different motivation i guess

we die while the engine keeps running to bury us in the rain

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