Two hundred years ago, you were laid to rest upon a hill . . .
From time to time they would come visit you, place a few small stones, smoothed by so many years spent in the river, upon your head.
Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall
Seasons passed, Days became Weeks, Weeks to Months, Months to Years . . .
Yet they came.
One day they stopped, in a sudden flash you were all alone, your children taken to the east.
Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall
Seasons passed, Days became Weeks, Weeks to Months, Months to Years . . .
You were alone.
Now they come again, in small groups, they take photos, perhaps say a few prayers, yet still
the days go by and you are alone.
No Longer! The time has come . . . those who slumber in the earth shall awake and sing . . .
Slumber no more, wake from your nap!
Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall
Seasons passed, Days became Weeks, Weeks to Months, Months to Years . . .
You have returned.
9 years ago
3 comments:
Beautiful and haunting, is this your poem?
yup . . . all of the work here is mine (unless otherwise noted )
Oy, where are my manners (something else ema taught me ;-) )
Thank you very much for your words!
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