Mausoleum
The mausoleum echoes my soft steps
Down long corridors of marbled crypts –
My father loved to hike and fish.
Stairs, a left, then right and at the end,
On a lower tier, I find his name
William – but only one ‘L’ remains.
I gently touch the name of he who gave,
Me the patience to cast in stream’s cascade,
Then tenderly a Brook Trout to play.
But as I do his ‘I’ falls to floor –
The noise clatters down the corridor;
I pick it up but cannot restore.
The mausoleum is silent as I weep.
Down these halls, each night a man with broom sweeps
Letters into drawers and there to keep.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
