A poem of death and sadness
I enter gates rusty and old- worn with age,
this eternal resting place fills my soul with sadness;
the time of year does not help- barren trees hang low,
dried up flowers lay forlorn and withered on graves.
I follow a path that takes me deep into a maze of,
many stones are difficult to read- time decayed;
some are simple crosses and others granite markers,
I cross a bridge over a rippling creek in the silence.
Dark valleys lay before me and toppled statues rest,
this scene of sadness holds a place in my soul ever;
for in this cemetery lays a beloved childhood memory,
of my Christmas white cat, Snowball- and still I weep.
March 21, 2014
Copyright Protected, ID 14-2193-739-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.