Where the Yew-filled Graveyard Hides

Another old poem of mine written again to get to grips with metre.

Where the yew-filled graveyard hides
corpses from the public’s eye
there you and I would take a walk
on star-filled nights we’d sit and talk
on my father’s gravestone old
I’d steal a kiss, feeling bold
you’d respond, I’d feel your breath
upon my cheek, life over death.
Amid the crowd of ghostly souls
were unfilled plots and empty holes
one marked for you and one for me
beneath a spreading sickly tree
you’ll hold me, I’ll feel your breath
upon my lips, life over death.