The Biker's Burial

We all gathered at the clubhouse
Where the procession would begin
The funeral of a brother
Whose life had met a tragic end

The club had made the arrangements
Much to the family’s dismay
But in his will his wishes were clear
This was the biker way.

Three hundred roaring bikes
A line of rolling thunder
A sea of leather united
To put him six feet under.

As we roared into the grave site
The family was there to grieve
Overwhelmed by our arrival
Began gathering their things to leave.

I approached a silver haired lady
“Please, ma’am, don’t leave yet,
You’re about to witness something
I promise you never will forget.”

“They may look a little rough,
 But they’re here out of respect
They loved your grandson dearly
This is what he would expect”

They gathered with us in a circle
She saw no hole dug in the land
Then she watched them take the shovels
And dig his grave by hand.

Some passed around a bottle
Others sang Amazing Grace
But as each one took the shovel
Tears ran down his face.

She said “I’ve never seen anything like this,
And I have never been so touched.”
She then wiped a tear from a scraggly face
While his hand she tightly clutched.

2005