He's always there Rooted and silent
As the ancient trees round the
burning ground
The necrophilic
His dirty long hair
Trailing into the night
The rancid whiff
Of rotten corpses in his breath
The grow of briskly burning'
Pyres in his sunken eyes
His skeletal fingers coated with ash
He's always there
Nobody knows how
It start ed
They only hazard a grass
The death of a loved one
Perhaps ?
He piles up the wood Helps to
light the fire Break the pot
Gather the ashes
He's always there
Perhaps he does it
For the sheer bliss
Of inhaling the odour
Of burning flesh
He never ashes for money
He's always there
Rooted and silent
As the ancient trees
Around the burning ground.