A collection of fish is known as a school,
A gathering of crows? A murder—how cruel!
When musicians unite, it’s called a band
(Who made these up? Was it all planned?)
Some names feel sunny, some oddly grim—
A mischief of mice, lions proud and prim.
Some make you smile, others raise a brow...
Who chose these words, and why, and how?
But what of souls, both young and old?
Do they gather in groups, brave or bold?
Are they sorted by joy or by heavy hearts,
Or dancing alone, each playing their parts?
Would we call them a shimmer, a sigh,
A giggle of souls drifting up to the sky?
A tangle, a whisper, or shoals on a scroll?
No—I’ve got it.
A confetti of souls.
