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Poem


This day is as peaceful to me, as the day has, been so long
As I listen to the birds singing just for me in their last song

Gone the summer’s greens, autumn’s leaves they descend
Critter’s out gathering their winter food, on it they depend

It is only times like this, to which I am at my most content
Memories which I hold within this Kirk yard only to me lent

So within the Kirk yard I get to see death’s glory at its best
As I read all the gravestone epitaphs, of those now, at rest

I can hear all the idle chatter; of those so unearthly ghosts
Saying to me you are welcome, as today we are your hosts

Peacefulness prevails here as only a kirk yard can ever give
As I enter another time frame, and to how folks used to live

Passed before my eyes, images of long ago to me displayed
That then disappear into the walls of the Kirk yard in a haze

Ghostly figures; stop to stare at me, in their own eerily way
Watching me, as I am dressed in clothes of the modern day

Silence, not one word spoken, fear this moment shall break
With every image captured within my own mind I doth take

A sun sets with a sad loneliness, laden under its own weight
With each gravestone whispering until I reach the iron gates

This kirk yard is now dampened with the coming of the night
Only it to flourish once more come tomorrow’s early sunlight

I, a soul so tired, and weary, as seen etched across my face
Passing beneath the gate lamp, it showers me with its grace

Won’t be long, before they as carry me through these gates
Where, I become a part of its wealth that just for me awaits

Indiana Shaw . . . -_-

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