Below is the poem entitled The Grave in the Woods which was written by poet
Stinson. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.
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The sunset casts its solemn hues
On the footpath where I tread.
I proceed, then it comes to view,
And fills my heart with dread.
It's the grave I dug for my love
That now seems like years ago.
I see what's wrong from the stars above:
There are fresh prints in the snow.
The lead from the tomb in which she was laid
To the tree where she had hung.
"Please, not like this," were the words I prayed
And Hail Mary's are what I had sung.
But maybe it's just a trick of light?
An illusion from my mind?
There's no way I could believe my sight,
Because to me, it had never been kind.
With all the strength I can manage
I go to face her headstone.
When, suddenly, I start to panic,
For I know I'm not alone.
I feel a hand upon my shoulder,
And chills race up my back,
The winter winds become so much colder,
But I turn and face the black.
I'm awoken by the sunrise.
Has it been hours, or even days?
The fear within me dies,
Until I see her empty grave.