Haste
Still too early to choose our new path
yet we headed to the open door
of the morgue into which
we’d identify our dead relatives as
people hid their money in worn out
mattresses, finger pointed at the scale,
lone feather on one side of it
his heart on the other, when the speechless
Hades with no hesitation scribed
accurate weight of his soul
representing size of coffin wherein
its eternal beauty would finally fit
Manolis Aligizakis 
A sad end
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