Parfum De Cay
Fallen petals from a funeral wreath,
freshly dug-earth,
and a hint of rot…
linger in the graveyard air
and mingle with the living scents
of the spring breeze—
of lilac and honeysuckle,
and the more elusive smell
of memories and of prayers
They are present here,
as she sits beside his grave
Recalling with eerie detail
the lines of his face, the love in his eyes
And wonders with morbid thoughts
how those features have transformed now
As she contemplates
what lay beneath the earth’s crust
and what similar fate awaits her,
there comes a new smell among
the stones and moss—
An overwhelming smell of fear.
Copyright © Shelley Moore | Year Posted 2015
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