Graves

bydemure101©

Flat country under much too wide a sky,
the trees and buildings dwarfed. Closefisted light
lies on the narrow road that passes by

the tall wrought-iron gates; the day is stilled
and there's no sound but birds that twitter, far
behind the hedge. A wire basket, filled

with wilted flowers, almost spills its spoils
upon the well-raked gravel. Farther in,
there's grave, old headstones for so many foils;

the day's solemnity breaks on their cold
indifference to order. Overgrown,
askew and out of line, they show a bold

defiance to the modern part, where all
anonymously tidy graves are placed
like last war's traitors lined up at the wall –

you'll never find your well-beloved here
for she you buried wasn't quite the same
as she you loved so well; too many a year

went by before she did, and though the name
engraved in granite is a name you knew
here doesn't lie the one for whom you came.

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bydemure101© 8 comments/ 1574 views/ 2 favorites

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