THE PROCESSION

THE PROCESSION

“They’re coming up Bellevue
In about an hour,”
I said to my Mama
As she worked in her flowers.
“Who’s coming Mama?”
Timmy asked Me
“Is is Mr. Elvis?”
“Man...I want to see!”
“Yes it’s Mr. Elvis.”
I said softly
Timmy dropped his head,
And leaned on me.
Mama look up
From her flower bed,
And said
“I just don’t believe,
That he’s really dead!”
Well Timmy and me,
We’re going to go
And watch the Procession
I know it’ll be slow.
Maybe we can see,
Inside the Hearse.
We were excited,
Not scared,
So off we went,
And dared.
Just as we got
to the top of the hill,
We look down and around,
The people were so still.
It was quite calm, and quaint.
Almost like the funeral,
Of a Celestial Saint.
As Mr. Elvis passed by,
There were no dry eyes.
Timmy looked up at me,
Then he waved “goodbye”.
It was then that I learned,
From my own small child,
That a legend was gone,
To a better home.
And there he would never
Again be alone.
It was the first of its kind
In our neighborhood,
That someone so famous,
And someone so good,
Cared enough for us,
That he passed through the Hood.
Only Elvis could!
Emily J Brown Perry