Potter's Field

Behind the dead and rotting trees, You’ll see a spot revealed, That lives through heat and bitter freeze: The silent Potter’s Field. Though if you listen very close, You still may hear the call, Of sunken souls but much morose, Their scratches from the crawl. Some buried here were shot for cause, With wounds that never healed, Forever more beneath the straws, Alone in Potter’s Field. A rock will stand for all who died, But not a single name, The grass and dirt above to hide, This endless guilt and shame. Although they lie without a trace, Their destiny is sealed, As bones beneath this sentenced place, Of silent Potter’s Field.