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Poem

Strolling along a winding country lane the other day,
I came upon a desolate graveyard in abysmal disarray.
'Twas barely visible, hidden 'mongst weeds and brambles.
Untended over time, it had fallen into an appalling shambles.

I paused at the sagging gate to gaze upon the forlorn scene.
A rusting sign said it was established in eighteen-seventeen.
My curiosity was piqued about those who were within interred.
The stones were weathered with age, their etchings very blurred.

A misty rain started to fall as I began my pensive walk-about.
Adding to the dreary scene, a raven startled me with its raucous shout!
Did I detect the murmuring of phantoms gossiping about this intruder?
Or was it the sigh of wafting zyphers soughing among the cedar?

I meandered 'mongst the stones noting each epitaph and name.
Old soldiers lay in hallowed graves having won national acclaim.
Pioneers who settled the land lay awaiting Gabriel's clarion call.
Graves of little children were scattered about, adding to the pall.

If it were in my power the mists of time to reverse,
'Twould be fascinating with these long-gone denizens to converse.
I suspect that among the other things that they might say,
Is, "Restore the beauty of this place where we lie beneath the clay!"

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)

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