She licks her finger and dampens her eye   To make people think she is crying   For all around her are tear-sorrowed faces   But she is too young to know dying         Outside the window tree branches sway down   Long glassy fingers sweep snow-covered ground   While inside a woman is moaning softly   For loss of a son         She sees black-ribboned white roses and hears   A man with bowed head heavily sighing   Then bravely she turns her gaze back to the box   Where a broken young body is lying         Outside the crystal icicles shine bright   Casting a prism, reflecting the light   That sends rainbows dancing across the brow   Of a pastor in prayer         She touches her face to see if the mouth tears   She put on with her finger are drying   Then her young attention is drawn back outside   Where she watches a small brown bird flying         Coming to land on the icy fence rail   With such a momentum it skids on its tail   And she laughs so loud and then quickly   Claps her small hand to her mouth