Lush green grass waving in the wind
Between the stones of lives
A few words telling the history
we were born and we died
The gossamer thread of a spiders home
nesting at the side of the grave
catching the casual flight of a fly
spinning its tomb-like threads
A brown crust showing the age
of the words that can hardly be read
Embossed in the stone but now weathered
by storm and winds, covering the who or when
Midst in the scenery of the graveyard
the church towers above all
guarding the secrets of those who have gone
the eternal rest of the dead
Dismal, dark, even dangerous are the clouds
The storm is coming engulfing all
The mood changes, no longer welcoming
it is better to be gone
The witness still remains
whether in the warmth of the Summer
or the cold of the Winter
It will be forever in the ground
The bell tolls once more slowly
whilst the procession nears the destiny
of one who has departed
Lush green grass is waving in the wind
Poetry Posse - Week 29: A Walk through the Cemetry
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