Poem By willow moon pearce
Tombstones lean back and forth
Like a snaggled old mouth
So close together
They meld into stunning marble splendour
Pathways are blocked, overgrown and easy to fall
Catacombs barred to the rapists of our legacy
Dare I say that the Victorians
Treasured and built their monuments -
Maybe their way of being remembered
I cannot think of the deceased in their black plumed
Horse and carriages
Without the feeling that someday I will be here
Amongst the people I have always respected
In the dappled light with no sound.
Why does this haven bring me comfort.