The white sheet moved gently in the summer breeze,
under it a still body we could see his motorbike boots.
The police had done their measuring-up stuff, waited
for the ambulance crew to take the body away.
It had been such a splendid summer forenoon, but now
cars drove slowly by the accident scene, like a funeral
procession, we are so fascinated by unexpected death.
And now someone had to knock on a door (these things
can't be done by a mobile call) and tell his mother that
the light of her life had been extinguished.
