He waited till the last person withdrew. The time was near and he can’t be late. But the people just won’t go. The storms near, why aren’t they going? He sat on the ground. While the crowd slowly walked out of the green matted field, the man stood up eagerly, “at last, “
But he saw two still standing. He walked up to them.

“Storm’s near,” he said to a gentleman with tearing eyes. The man nodded. The man moved out with a woman holding his hands.

“So here we go” the man clutched his shovel and started closing the grave. The man slowly pulled out a torn kercheif and kept it on top of the gentleman’s sons casket.
“Don’t worry boy, you will have friends here, my son sleeps a few metres from here, he is a good boy. He could use a nice company. Give this kerchief to him, when you see him. Tell him, his papa loves him.”
The man shovelled the mud into the grave like tears swelling in eyes.