Friday 22 June 2007

woodland glade


I stand here in the old cemetery not so far from town
where the traffic blissfully goes by, on the old
railway line .
The patrons who were laid here to rest once siblings
of the families, who planted saplings
to make the woodland cemetery .
Like the railway the families have gone, no more
are the graves cared for, no-one comes on bended knee
with flowers and no-one grieves .
Broken headstones countless weeds ,below the ground
only decay where many tears did fall,
encouraged the trees to grow tall, in this
a woodland cemetery.


The Old Git

The Old Git
The pigeon wild, not tame he seem to like me

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