by Jeremy Wayne Couch
In the church, the daughter cries
but inside her spirit flies
An end has come to her shame
and the nights of fear and pain
caused by the caresses of her father's hands
By the grave, the widow weeps
but she smiles in her sleep
as she thinks of the gardener
young and tan
who's been doing more than yardwork
with his powerful hands
At the house, the son bids farewell
to people he wishes would go to Hell
As they think, "What a fine, young man!"
he wonders if they notice
the blood on his hands