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Up on the top of a hill
With a windy, narrow road
Sits a little cemetery,
It's residents always home.
In the middle of this resting place,
A girl sits by a grave.
Unmarked and with no flowers
Is where she spends her days.
It's unknown who is buried there,
Or how long it has been.
All she knows is when she dies,
She'll have a gravestone just like them.



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  1. Date: 6/15/2014 6:06:00 PM

    Very nice write Palem. really liked reading this very sad poem. keep on keeping on my friend You write very nicely...peter