open my eyes

little owl where did you come from I was not aware of you watching me

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.