Poem - written for a contest.
|The roads steadily dwindle down
From a speedy four lane highway
To a quiet country road, then
A bumpy, pot-holed, tree-lined lane
That morphs to a narrow dirt trail,
And last, an overgrown path,
Ending at a rusty, crowned gate.
Beyond the gate, old headstones rise
Wraith-like amid long, seeded grass -
Silent sentinels that still bear
The faintest hints of once bold words.
A few lay like fallen soldiers,
Toppled over in some tempest;
Others lean precariously.
The traveler who takes the time
To decipher and read the words,
Will find sad tales of loss and woe:
Tales of brothers, sons, and fathers;
The passing's of old men and youths;
Wages of a forgotten war -
Each stone a mute storyteller.