Matches

There is a custom in our place,
When we’re laid to rest,
Before the coffin lid is closed,
Two items are placed,
Upon the head and toes,
To symbolise the interests of our lives.
It is a gift,from the living to the dead,
To help them on the way,
To cross the great divide.
So when old Rodgers died,
It was strange that cigarettes were placed upon his feet,
But no matches at his head,
The coffin closed,the prayers said,
And the way was readied for the last great walk,
Between the living and the dead.
The speculation grew,
What Mrs Rodgers knew.
To deny the man the right,
To cross the great divide without a light.
But for those that knew him well,
It was easy to tell.
There was, no need for matches in hell.

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