An improvised window poem written on the front door of the church at my grandpa's recent funeral. Not very clear or original but you may see a sickle and you may see a vision of the afterlife. Or you may just see a wet, miserable day brightened by the memory of a fine, old gent who was a very fine, old grandfather to me. The poem reads:
Moments later the poem started to drip away, much like life, but I didn't manage to take a photo of that because I didn't want to draw too much attention to myself, the church elders being a rather solemn lot. No matter. Peace to them and peace to my grandpa. And peace to you.
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