After Many Years, Kaddish

This funeral was, as almost all funerals are,
Sad, but this funeral was not, as too many others
Are, overly despairing.  My friend had died
In the full measure of her time, leaving mourners
Not unduly bereft.  May her soul wing its way
To its eternal home.

And after, I corralled a few friends, enough for the 
Quorum, to attend to me by my daughter’s
Grave, whose own funeral was utterly despairing,
For the former was in her full measure of time,
But my daughter’s was not.

None of the quorum had met her,  these friendships 
Were cultivated over the past decades after 
My salient facts of the decade prior.  With
Appropriate composure they attended me while
I recited, now by rote, the doxology celebrating
Sanctity in commemoration.

The last time I recited Kaddish by her grave
Was a decade or more after, two decades ago,
When my father was interred.  They had the 
Same olive complexion, and a similar twinkle,
And a silly sense of humor—one cultivated
Over  his many decades,

And the other the natural consequence of a 
Five year old.  My friends of the quorum
Could not have known this, nor was
This the time to tell,  

But I recalled it, while praising
God’s holiness, 
As tradition demands,
And remembering the beloved souls,
As the heart demands.