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