You grieve by the freshly filled grave

You deny that this is really happening -

Your child, your grandchild -

Lifeless.

Why are you standing there - alive

While your progeny lies under earth?

"Unreal, unreal," you say,

As tears well in your eyes

And drizzle down your cheek.

You stand, gazing at the name

Stuck on a small stick

Atop the freshly shoveled earth.

Is this all that is left of your dream?

Or is this just one bad dream

From which you will awake?

Dazed, you lick the salty liquid from your lip.

A deep voice rises:

"Yitgadal veyitkadash...."

And you walk away to the hole in your home.