A graveyard visitor has a wonderful vision.
|I sit among the storied stones under a lowering October sky,
Longing to see more than others have seen
And tarry where the hurried have passed.
And sit, remembering streets of earth, and hooped black
Dresses trailing through the dampened dirt.
And to my astounded eyes, a dark cortege enters the gate
And six stately dark horses plumed in black.
And quietly I follow where small recesses await.
And while mourners do weep I venture to comfort,
But they are no more.