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Garden-Spot
(22 August 1893 - 7 June 1967 / Long Branch / New Jersey)

Garden-Spot

God's acre was her garden-spot, she said;
She sat there often, of the Summer days,
Little and slim and sweet, among the dead,
Her hair a fable in the leveled rays.

She turned the fading wreath, the rusted cross,
And knelt to coax about the wiry stem.
I see her gentle fingers on the moss
Now it is anguish to remember them.

And once I saw her weeping, when she rose
And walked a way and turned to look around-
The quick and envious tears of one that knows
She shall not lie in consecrated ground.

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Comments (1)

Emotional attachment with the garden spot beautifully narrated, Thanks for sharing it here.