Boots
Boots buried deep in the ground
Boots concealed under mounds
Boots with shapes and restless frown
Boots marching underneath the ground
camouflaging the heat of a cruel folly.
Boots of young women and little children
Lay indefatigably under the troubled ground
Sealing the fate of the sparsely populated town.
Just before dawn I drifted in a fiery doze
I found myself at the foot of an unfamiliar hill surrounded
by numerous dwellings wrapped up in the company of unknown people .
I started digging in a garden encircled by a mysterious plot
Gardens that have been watered and well kept
Conceal dark secrets exposing shadows of death
Gardens pruned and overgrown packed with
Spinsters’ boots and children abandon in their youth.
Boots that flourished in spring; boots bearing woeful tides
Remain deep under the earth waiting to be unearthed.
I digged and digged deep down in the ground
And exhume a boot knee length long and another
a quarter foot long; I showed them to my daring neighbor
but neither of them had a rightful owner.
I suddenly appeared in a house at the foot of the hill
And a man of fine nature abruptly walked in,
He asked for buns, picked up some paper and said that he was
going to attend a meeting on top of the hill.
Yet the mystery remains a puzzle in numerous gardens in
A sparsely populated city on the outskirt of town.
©2014 Christine Phillips
Copyright © Christine Phillips | Year Posted 2014
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