For the Cemetery Contest of Constance La France
"Across our childhood’s street we trod on carpet lawn and holy sod. We walked along where some had prayed. Where once we played, he now is laid." From my poem "Where Once We Played" There’s an old, large graveyard in my home town. We would not go there if chill winds would wail. In summer though its rows we would walk down. It’s also where we buried dear, young Dale. My brother Dale and I would ride bikes where we'd see tombstones from many years ago. I never dreamed so soon he'd be put there one winter day as down from sky fell snow. We’ve all moved on, and no one is around where bones of Dale have lain for forty years since he was placed into that cold, hard ground and we stood there – our faces wet with tears. Deep in Greenwood Cemetery, no hole holds him, for in heaven resides his soul.
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