Published on the allpoetry website in January 2021 and promoted as a featured poem. Originally inspired by the Black Bough Poetry Winter 2021/22 submission for short poems but it didn't really fit the remit.
The Churchyard
The gate creaks slightly, and I tread gently
by the sad stones, the tiny beds of lost children
who in twists of destiny would lie further on.
by the sad stones, the tiny beds of lost children
who in twists of destiny would lie further on.
To where my icy footprints now take me.
Past the low wall, memorials large and small.
The flowers I place will die too, dessicate
as the cold sun picks out gilded letters,
The flowers I place will die too, dessicate
as the cold sun picks out gilded letters,
illuminates stark dates. I leave, passing tilting stones,
weathered names fading as I observe
the marks my feet made before are melting away.
weathered names fading as I observe
the marks my feet made before are melting away.
Tim Fellows 2021
Photo (c) Bill Henderson 2004 shared under Creative Commons Attribution Share Alike license
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