Good Friday

It was a gloomy day in Newtown,
and I think it should have been gloomy.

The sun has now sunk quietly behind the sky
and the Sabbath begins
with the yawning and stretching of 3 tiny stars.

Good Friday has passed and He is officially dead.

The lights have all gone out,
and as I sit alone at Tinsley’s grave,

I hear a broken Mother Mary
weeping in the dark.