Written, November 08, 2023 Submitted to the contest, No.1263,Unplaced Sponsor, Brian Strand
I often go for walks down nature paths, & today I stroll through a broken gate; love the twisting way & tangled footpaths, perhaps it chose me- perhaps it was fate. The trees tremble, whisper & song bird's chirp, I find some tombs- crumbling, so cold, so dark; the birds trill, tweet & whistle with a twirp, this place serene & reflective like a park. Pages of my life whirl in confusion, I hear voices & murmurs call my name; I am chilled in this utter seclusion, the names deep engraved & mine are the same. Rain falls, falling on each gray hidden stone; & I read my own name on a tombstone.
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