A brass band descend

on desolate dunes

and strike a tune.

 

Shipshape

former shipmates follow,

singing songs

 

as ladies

dressed in black

stand silently

on the sand.

 

The music stops

and all is still,

save for the shifting surf

and the plaintive vibrations

of a grieving child.

 

A preacher prays,

his vestments swaying

in the abrasive

bronchial breeze.

 

He wades in the water,

dispersing the contents

of a casket

into the brine.

 

The brass band strike a chord

and amidst a raft of rose petals,

a wreath

floats out to sea.